The Darkest Black
by Tishtriya
Summary: Hermione wakes up in a world that isn't hers, a bed that isn't hers, and next to a man who isn't Ron, but the Dark Lord's right hand man: Sirius Black. EWE, Dimension-travel, Darkish!Sirius
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: I have other stories under another penname on this site, but this is my first Sirius/Hermione story. This is a dimension-travel story, set a few years after the Battle of Hogwarts. The M-rating is for scenes of a sexual nature, and slightly dark situations in future chapters. English isn't my first language, so the writing may be slightly different than what native English-speakers are used to.

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling. I own nothing.

**oOo**

**The Darkest Black: Chapter One**

Throbbing.

Her head was throbbing, paining as if someone was drumming it vigorously.

Hermione let out a groan, wondering over the cause of the headache. Had she been out for a drink again, last night? Merlin! If Rita Skeeter got wind of it – like she had, the previous time Hermione had gone out to a pub after an argument with Ron – she was sure she would have to face yet another bout of staring and whispering at work.

She groaned again, deciding she badly needed a glass of water for her parched throat. She opened her eyes, only to snap them shut when they met blinding white light.

_Damn_ Ron and his incorrigible habits! How many times had she told him to shut the bloody windows before he slept? But he kept them open every single time… just like he kept his clothes lying around, expecting her to clean up after him, put his unwashed dishes in the sink, expecting her to wash them, refused to help her with cooking and kitchen chores just because she was the woman and he thought it was her job to do all the household stuff—_Merlin! _It was no use thinking about that, she decided, knowing that if she began to point out matters over which Ron and she bickered, it would take her the better part of the next hour…

It was a _new_ day, she thought firmly, deciding that she would try her best to avoid getting into arguments with Ron. Granted things between them weren't good recently – especially on the marriage and kids matter. But they were together, weren't they? She _had _to make it work, at least give it her best shot…

She opened her eyes again, only to shut them yet again, her head throbbing even harder as her eyes met the bright sunlight (she was definitely having a bad hangover, she noted absently). She groped around blindly, hoping her hand would meet the bedside table, where she usually kept a pitcher of water. But her fingers only met empty air.

_Damn it! _

She decided that her thirst wasn't great enough to merit her getting out of bed and walking to the kitchen to get some water; her poor, aching head would certainly be unable to stand that.

She turned to her left instead, idly noting that her bed seemed very, _very _fluffier than it usually did. But she was too irritated with her headache to dwell on that.

"Ron," she said, her voice sounding all hoarse.

It was a new day, she thought again; a new start.

"Ron," she repeated, moving leftwards towards Ron's sleeping form with a groan, deciding to wake him up far more romantically than she usually did.

She moved her hand forward, and her lips touched the nearest part of Ron she could feel. But she froze abruptly, when her lips met a stubbled cheek, while her hand touched what felt like a soft, silky cloth over a rather firm arm.

Ron was always clean-shaven—and—and he definitely didn't wear a silk night-robe!

Her eyes flew open, blinking rapidly as they adjusted to the sunlight.

Next to her lay a man who _certainly _wasn't Ron!

His arm lay over his eyes, covering the upper part of his face. But his hair—his hair wasn't ginger-coloured, but jet _black_!

He wasn't Ron!

There was a _stranger_ in her bed!

"No!" she gasped, sitting up quickly, feeling disoriented as her head screamed at the sudden motion. Had she slept with him? No, no, _no! _This wasn't happening! She couldn't have slept with another man and betrayed Ron – no matter _how _drunk she had been.

She looked around the room, a shiver running up her spine when she realised that it wasn't her room! It wasn't the room she shared with Ron, which she'd recently painted a peaceful blue. Instead, it was a very lavishly-decorated room, with green and silver being the most prominent colours.

She _wasn't_ home!

She was in some weird unknown room, which wouldn't have been out-of-place in a bloody palace. And she was next to a black-haired (and rather nice-smelling) man who wasn't Ron!

She ran a hand through her hair, only to freeze again!

_It wasn't her hair_! It wasn't bushy and wild and tangled! It was silky—and—and _blonde!_

"Are you alright?" came a deep, although cold, voice from the unknown man she had been sharing the bed with.

Her eyes snapped to him, widening as they fell on his face, an older version of which she had once been very familiar with, on his eyes which were dark grey.

He was _Sirius Black!_

She was sure he was! A younger version of him, though…

She inched away from him, mouth dry, heart hammering madly in her chest, head throbbing in agonising pain.

"What's wrong?" he asked her, grey eyes searching hers.

And Hermione tried – she tried very, _very _hard – to suppress her scream. But when he moved his hand forward to touch her, she couldn't hold it in anymore, and she let out the loudest scream she had ever screamed.

**oOo**

**A/N: **Phew! My first attempt at posting a story of my own – my other fictions have been co-written with other authors.

Feedback is very much welcome, so that I know whether to continue this :)

Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **A big Thank You to all those who favourited, followed and reviewed the first chapter – extremely encouraging, and made me get this chapter written quicker :)

**Guest 1 – **Thank you so, _so _much for your review! The first review I got for this story! More on your questions in this update and the coming ones :)

**Guest 2 – **Thanks a ton for the review! :)

**Guest 3 – **Thank you so very much! Glad you liked the writing! Thanks a ton for the encouragement! :)

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling. I own nothing.

**The Darkest Black: Chapter Two**

"Shut up!" the man—Sirius, she reminded herself, a _young Sirius_—snapped at her, withdrawing his hand that had been within centimetres of her shoulder, his eyes dark with an emotion that certainly wasn't the worry they had contained earlier.

And Hermione abruptly stopped screaming, heart still hammering wildly in her ribcage.

"Sirius?" she mumbled, her voice sounding foreign to her ears. Hell, it _was _a foreign voice! Under its currently hoarse tenor, she knew her voice would sound sweet; far sweeter than her voice – _Hermione Granger_'s voice – had been.

"You're Sirius?" she tried again, more to test her new voice than to confirm the man's identity.

"Of course I'm Sirius," said the man, a flicker of bewilderment flitting on his face. "Do I need to call a Healer? Did the fall affect your head, Greengrass?" The last word was uttered with distasteful coldness, not that Hermione noticed.

"_Greengrass_?" she gasped, wondering whether it was all an alcohol-induced hallucination. Why on earth was a young Sirius Black calling her 'Greengrass'?

"What do I call you, then?" said Sirius with a sneer that wouldn't have been out of place on her late Potions Professor's face. "Much to my misfortune, you _are_ my wife, but don't expect me to—"

"W—wife?" sputtered Hermione, eyes wide, stunned to the bone.

The man stared at her—_Sirius, _not 'the man',she reminded herself furiously. Sirius Black, her _husband—_no! The husband of the blonde-haired woman she currently was in… however that had happened…

"As it much as it disgusts me to admit it, you _are _my wife." Sirius shot her a cold, withering glare, before he stood up.

"I'm going for a shower," he muttered. "You better get ready. Mother must be awaiting us for breakfast. Then we're going to meet Cissy."

And with that, Sirius walked away, into what she supposed was their bathroom.

And Hermione sat there, almost hyperventilating.

Mother?

_Mother?_

Had Sirius meant Walburga Black when he said 'mother'? But he hated that woman for God's sake! _Detested_ her! Why was he uttering 'mother' in that almost affectionate tone, then?

And _Cissy_?

There was no damn way he was referring to Narcissa Malfoy when he said Cissy, was there? Sirius and Narcissa _hated_ each other! Narcissa had bloody rejoiced when Bellatrix had killed Sirius by making him fall into the veil!

She stood up on shaky feet, the throbbing in her head increasing. She spotted a mirror to the furthest right of the room, but decided against looking at her blonde-haired reflection into it – at least until Sirius was out of earshot, in case of potential ear-splitting screams.

Greengrass, he had called her.

_Greengrass._

She looked at her hands. Yeah, the manicured fingernails looked more like they belonged to a Greengrass than Hermione Granger, as did the silk robe she had donned, and the strands of the blonde hair that fell down her shoulders – yeah, more Greengrass than Granger, she thought gloomily.

She looked around at the room. It was a lavishly decorated room, no doubt. Hell, even the sheets on the bed looked like they cost more than all the furniture she had bought with Ron—wait! _Ron! _Where was he? He must be looking for her! Wondering where she had gone! And Harry—and Ginny, and all the Weasleys, and her Mum and Dad—Merlin! What had she got herself into?

It was a bad dream, she decided stoutly, ignoring the voice of reason which was prodding her continuously, telling her that she was indeed in a world that wasn't her own, in a body that wasn't her own – however absurd and impossible that was.

It was a really, _really _bad dream, she reiterated, shutting her eyes and pressing her temple with fingers, trying to make the headache better. She would wake up again, in her own little room with the old cabinets and the little dressing table and Ron's unwashed laundry lying dumped in a corner. She would wake up next to Ron, with his little annoying snores permeating the silence, his red hair falling over his eyes, and then she would grumpily make breakfast for them, kiss a just-awoken Ron, and go to the Ministry to work at the job she so loved…

A hand on her shoulder startled her, and she suppressed the yelp she had been about to let out.

"Have this," came Sirius' deep baritone.

She looked up at him, eyes widening. He was dressed in just a _towel_!

Her cheeks coloured, and she tried to avert her eyes from him. But her famed curiosity got the better of her. She glanced at him, throwing her embarrassment to the winds.

He was as tall as his older version had been, she noted. But he didn't carry the scrawniness and the almost-malnourished look Azkaban had cursed him with. He was on the thinner side, but not as lanky as he had been in the summer before their school fifth year at Grimmauld Place.

His hair, which fell to his shoulders, was still slightly damp, she noticed, from the shower he had had. His face was younger – she'd put him somewhere in his early twenties. It didn't carry the lines she remembered him having. He still possessed that aristocratic nose, those high cheekbones, those grey eyes with that penetrating gaze, the stubble on his jaw.

But there was one great difference between the two Siriuses: the old Sirius always had a smile on his face for her, except for when he got into his brooding moods. But this Sirius had his lips pressed into a thin line, as if they had never, ever stretched into a genuine smile.

She met his gaze again, blushing as she realised he knew she had been giving him a once over. But she hadn't been able to help looking, for he was _extremely_ attractive. She had always imagined that Sirius had been good-looking before his Azkaban days. And she now realised that she was wrong – he wasn't just good-looking! He was impossibly handsome! Probably the most handsome man she had seen! Even without that cheeky grin she remembered him carrying!

Her gaze swept lower, falling on his bare, firm chest, on his darkish nipples, on the smattering of sparse hair on his chest. And then _even_ lower, onto the trail of dark hair on his belly which disappeared beneath the towel – the towel which covered a slight bulge, and ended somewhere above his knees, followed by a firm, toned pair of legs.

And she felt her cheeks heating up! Merlin! She _couldn't _check out Sirius Black—he was Harry's godfather for Merlin's sake!

But—but this wasn't _that _Sirius, was he? The one who had been the one father-figure in Harry's life, the man who had even survived on a diet of rats just to be close to Harry… this man wasn't that Sirius.

"Hermione!" His voice roused her out of her thoughts.

"Herm—you called me Hermione," she mumbled, watching his lips purse.

"Last night's incident has clearly injured your mind as well, _Greengrass,_" said Sirius, sneering. "Have this," he repeated, placing a vial of potion in her hand with unnecessary force. "The Healer says you need to take it every two hours. I have already ordered Kreacher and Mopsy to remind you about the potion, in case the other _pressing matters_ on your mind make you forget to take it."

"Pressing matters?" she asked, noticing the disgust in his tone when he said that.

"Drop this act of innocence, Greengrass," he spat, his eyes darkening as they bored into hers. "And don't anger me—you know what happens to people who cross my path."

Hermione stiffened, a slight shiver running through her when she registered the threat in his tone, the dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Okay," she whispered, not wanting to antagonise him further – at least not until she knew _why_ he was behaving the way he was.

But she knew the answer merely a moment later, when he made to retrieve his clothes from the ornate cabinet. It lay branded onto his forearm – the skull, and the snake protruding out of its jaw, standing out dark against the fair expanse of his forearm: the_ Dark Mark_.

"No!" she gasped, heart thudding madly again, her mouth dry.

No! This couldn't be!

Sirius Black, of all people, _couldn't _be a Death Eater!

But it was all falling into place now: his eyes which were devoid of sentiment, his cold tone, the threat he had issued her, the silver and green colours of the room. He was a _Death Eater_! He followed Voldemort—which meant that Voldemort was _alive! _Because the Mark was dark, not faded as it had turned after both the times Voldemort had fallen at Harry's hands.

No!

No, no, _no_!

This just couldn't be happening! She couldn't be in a place where Voldemort was alive – with killings and bloodshed and pain and loss… She didn't want to go through all that again! She was done with Voldemort, for life! She just _couldn't _live in a dark world, again!

"Just have the damn potion!" Sirius snapped at her.

She was startled at the suddenness of his voice, the vial almost dropping out of her hand. But she uncorked it, sniffing it surreptitiously, confirming that it was indeed a safe potion to drink. And she swallowed it in a single gulp, the liquid leaving a cool sensation as it slid down her throat. Almost _too _rapidly, she sensed the throbbing in her head reduce, reaching a tolerable level of pain.

The empty vial suddenly vanished from her hand. And she looked at Sirius, noting the motion of his wand.

_Wait! _That was _her _wand! She recognised it instantly! Vine and Dragon Heartstring, ten and a half inches!

"My wand?" she asked him, almost hesitantly, wary of angering him further, not knowing how to tread with this almost-scary version of Sirius.

"I will return it to you in the evening," he said. "The Healer said you shouldn't do magic today… better you don't exert yourself magically…"

"But—"

"I lost my wand yesterday… during what happened," he added, ignoring her attempt at interrupting him. And she noticed the almost imperceptible sense of loss that clung to his voice. "I need to buy a new one. I will be using yours until then."

She frowned, not liking the way he spoke, the authority that laced his voice. He was using _her_ wand for Merlin's sake! The least he could do was ask her whether he could use it, rather than _tell _her in that irritatingly commanding tone!

"Don't you think you should ask me rather than tell me?" she said, ignoring her wariness of angering him.

"Considering that I lost my wand partly because of your foolishness, no," he replied, glowering at her, before he turned away from her, making to dress up in the robes he had retrieved from the cabinet.

"I'll—I'll go brush my teeth," she mumbled, averting her eyes from him.

He turned around sharply. "You will do _what_?" he demanded suspiciously.

_Shit! _

He had called her 'Greengrass'! That meant she was probably a pureblood—Hell, if she was married to Sirius Black, Death Eater, she was _definitely _a pureblood! She wouldn't be brushing her teeth, but using a Teeth Cleansing Charm. This Sirius probably didn't even know what 'brushing teeth' was!

"I—I meant, I—I'll go freshen up—take a shower—you said M—Mother's awaiting us for breakfast," she stuttered, cursing her mind for not thinking up words quicker.

"Alright," he said, still searching her face warily.

And she got to her feet, head spinning momentarily at the motion, before rushing into the bathroom.

She shut the door behind her, hoping with all her heart that Sirius would just leave the room and leave her alone. She leant against the door, face pressed to the cold surface, eyes shut, wondering _how _she had got into this predicament.

Minutes later, she heard the sound of a door shutting. And it was only then that she took a deep, relatively relieved breath.

But when she turned around, only to see her reflection in a life-sized mirror, it took all her grit to stop the scream that yearned to tear out of her throat.

She was tall, far taller than she had been when she had got into the bed she shared with Ron last night. And she was slim, far slimmer than she had been.

Her hair – it was blonde, and straight, falling down to her waist. She ran a hand through it, finding it strangely silky, nothing like her rough, bushy, brunette locks had been.

Her hands went to the silver buttons on her robe, and she began shedding all her clothes, finally standing naked in front of the mirror, shivering as the cold air hit her.

Her arms stood limply by her sides. Her fingernails were well-kept and manicured, unlike the misshapen stubs she used to bite them into.

Her legs were toned, none of the slight pudginess she remembered her thighs having. Her waist was slim, no sign of the slight weight she had put on recently, due to the food she tucked into when she worked late hours. Her breasts weren't the medium sized, adequately fleshed ones they had been. Instead, they were smaller, quite in proportion to the rest of her skinny body.

Her neck supported a face which contained negligible signs of Hermione Jean Granger. She moved closer to the mirror, observing her sharper nose, the higher cheekbones, the slightly plumper lips. But there was one thing that she had retained from her own self: her eyes. They were still the brown eyes she had always had, which Ron had loved looking into.

_Ron, _she thought with a painful pang in her tummy. She knew she had had doubts, recently, about whether she was in love with Ron. She loved him, of course, but she didn't think she was _in love _with him, anymore. They argued _too _frequently, over matters as flimsy as Ron leaving the toilet lid open, to her refusal to marry him and start at family at the young age of twenty-three.

She had possibly lost Ron now… she had lost everyone – even Harry, whom she loved like a brother, Ginny, who was a dear friend, her parents, even Neville and Luna, her co-workers at the Ministry, the Weasleys—Merlin! _Merlin! _She needed to think! She needed to get back home!

She filled the large tub with water, fiddling with the taps until the water was warm enough. And she slipped into it, feeling herself—her newly acquired body, rather – relax, as the water touched her.

Now, now, she needed to get things in perspective.

_One:_ _She was in a different dimension_.

A totally different universe –there was absolutely no doubt about it. She had heard a lot about parallel universes and dimensions during her work at the Ministry. She now knew that it was true.

_Two: She wasn't in her own body._

She was Hermione Greengrass, from what Sirius had said. She had retained almost none of her earlier physical features, except for her eyes. Her post-War research into the family trees of both her parents had told her the possibility of her magical gene being inherited from a distant ancestor, Elaine Greengrass – possibly a Squib or a Witch. So, the Hermione Greengrass she currently was, probably had something to do with that.

_Three:_ _She was married to Sirius Black_.

Well, she could leave that alone for now – at least not until Sirius demanded his conjugal rights; that would be a _big _problem. She hoped to Merlin he never would. She certainly didn't want to sleep with that rude arse, who was a Death Eater on top of everything.

That brought to the next point:

_Four:_ _Sirius Black was a Death Eater_.

There was nothing she could do about that, too, until she gathered more information on it.

_Five: Voldemort was alive_.

And that was a very, very dangerous situation. She needed to get more information about that, about how he was alive, about whether he had Horcruxes… she had to find out everything before she went back to her own world.

That brought her to the most important matter: _going back home_. She had absolutely no clue how to go about doing that, though. And well, if she was here, in mind and soul, it meant two things: either Hermione Greengrass had somehow entered Hermione Granger's body in her world back home. Or Hermione Granger was _dead._

But how on _earth _had she turned up here? She frowned, watching the fragrant foam float towards her, lathering herself absently.

What had happened, the previous day? She had woken up, made breakfast, bickered a little with Ron over Molly wanting Hermione to spend the weekend at the Burrow when she had already made plans to spend it with her parents – her Mum and Dad whom she loved so much, but with whom relations had soured after she had retrieved them from Australia and returned them their memories. _Merlin_! They would hate her if they knew that she had been separated from them _again_ due to magic! They would surely never talk to her again!

But her parents, she decided with yet another pang, was something she would dwell over later.

Yeah, so she bid goodbye to Ron, went to the Ministry. She had met Harry on the way; he had told her of something… something—what was it?

She shut her eyes again, willing herself to remember.

Damn! What had Harry told her? And where had she gone after that? Why could she remember nothing? Now that she thought of it, she couldn't even remember getting home, last evening… or even getting into bed with Ron.

When she had woken up, she had _thought _she had been in bed with Ron when she had slept. But now, she remembered nothing at all!

She gasped, feeling it rather tough to breathe, as she realised that she remembered nothing of what had happened when she met Harry! _Absolutely nothing_!

A knock on the door startled her.

"Mopsy is sorry to disturb Younger Mistress, but Older Mistress is calling for Mospy's younger Mistress!" came a high-pitched voice. An elf, Hermione realised.

She got out of the tub, taking a fluffy towel and wrapping herself with it. _Damn! _Why hadn't she taken some clothes along? She just hoped Sirius wasn't in the room outside! She had no intention of walking around Sirius in just a towel – even if it wasn't her own body on display.

She opened the door, spotting a young, female elf outside.

"Mopsy has Younger Mistress' robes ready," said the elf, trembling a little. "If Younger Mistress does not like them, Mopsy will throw herself down from the staircase, like Younger Mistress had ordered, last week—"

"What!" exclaimed Hermione, horrified. She had ordered the elf to jump off the stairs? What kind of a horrible person was Hermione Greengrass?

"Look, Mopsy," she said kindly, hating watching the elf shivering in fright. "I like the robes you've picked. And don't worry—you don't need to throw yourself down the stairs." She suppressed a 'thanks' for the robes, knowing the elf would probably punish herself if her Mistress thanked her.

"Mopsy will dress Younger Mistress now, if Younger Mistress orders it," said the elf, still trembling, but gazing at Hermione with huge, astonished eyes.

"Alright," muttered Hermione, knowing from experience, that if she refused the elf, Mopsy would probably think she had done something wrong if her Mistress wanted to dress herself up on her own. Merlin! The 'Younger Mistress' bit was already beginning to annoy her!

A quarter of an hour later, Hermione observed herself in the mirror. Her robes were of a deep blue, in contrast with her rather pale skin. The robes were made of expensive-looking silk, fitting her snugly, somehow accentuating her now smaller curves. Her hair was up in an elegant knot. Mopsy had left some tendrils of hair out of the knot, and they now framed her face prettily. All in all, thought Hermione, Hermione Greengrass was looking very, very beautiful.

But despite all the finery she was dressed in, she felt naked. And she knew what was making her feel that way: the absence of her wand. But that couldn't be helped. She would wait until evening – if she hadn't found a way to get back home by then – and demand her wand from Sirius, she decided as she stood up.

She instinctively thanked Mopsy, and then made the frazzled elf calm down, before she finally opened the door to her room, eyes widening when she looked around the corridor.

She was in Grimmauld Place, she was sure. It wasn't the dark, gloomy and depressing place it had been during her school years. Instead, the house spoke of the wealth and glory of the Blacks – the wood of the familiar staircase was polished and gleaming, the walls were recently-painted and seemed to be dusted regularly. She walked down the stairs, almost stumbling in the uncomfortable robes, before she stopped in her tracks.

She couldn't let the Blacks know that she wasn't Hermione Greengrass. She needed to get back to her own world, soon; without letting anyone know that she wasn't Greengrass. And for that, she needed to behave like a pureblood witch until she was in this world: well-mannered, poised and elegant.

She took a deep breath, and stood erect, hoping she looked as poised as some of the pureblood witches she had befriended after the War. And with yet another deep breath, she descended the staircase, head held high, standing tall and straight-backed.

She stopped when she reached the end of the last staircase. If her memory served right, the dining room was to her left.

Well, she thought, deciding to take a chance. And she walked leftwards, knowing she was nearing the dining room when she heard the soft clinks of cutlery.

"—I won't disappoint you, Mother—"

"I know, son. You are a Black – the future Lord Black. You can never disappoint me—"

Hermione paused momentarily in her tracks, knowing the voices she had heard had been Sirius and Walburga's. Goodness! This was a mad, mad world she had landed in! Sirius Black talking to Walburga in that loving, obedient tone!

Mad!

_Completely_ mad!

"Ah, there comes Hermione!" said Walburga, as Hermione entered the large room, her fingers itching to curl around her absent wand. But she grit her teeth, knowing she could depend on protecting herself wandlessly if she felt any signs of danger from the Blacks. She looked around the room, searching for anything that seemed suspicious. But she found nothing, her eyes taking in the opulence of the room: glimmering chandeliers lay suspended from the ceiling, the room painted in a bright cream colour, the table vast enough to seat twenty people, the crockery and cutlery of sparkling silver.

Then, Hermione looked at the woman sitting opposite Sirius. The Walburga Black she knew had yelled obscenities to her from her portrait, screamed abuses at her for her blood status. But this Walburga – who was surprisingly beautiful, with bright black eyes which contained barely any of the madness she was notorious for – was smiling at her, or was as close to 'smiling' as a Black could get.

Walburga was looking at her almost expectantly. And Hermione stiffened, not knowing what to say. Merlin! How were Hermione Greengrass' relations with her mother-in-law? Well, there was only one way of knowing.

"Good morning," she greeted Walburga, her new voice still sounding alien to her ears.

Walburga returned her greeting, turning her gaze to Sirius and then back to Hermione, a satisfied smile on her face.

"Hermione," said Sirius, none of the earlier coldness in his tone.

He stood up, and walked up to her, his expression giving no hint of what was going on in his mind.

And then, in a sudden motion, his hand went around her, settling on the small of her back, while he pulled her closer to him, the scent of his cologne invading her nostrils, his lips quickly meeting hers before she even knew what was happening.

She gasped, stiffening. But before she could react, he had let go of her.

She stood stunned, and surprised and _furious _that he had dared kiss her without her permission – even if it was just a chaste, propriety pressing of his lips to hers!

"Hermione? Are you alright?" Walburga's voice made her gaze snap to the older woman.

"She is much better now… She had a bit of a headache when she woke up, Mother," Sirius replied for her, pulling her chair back, gesturing towards it. "I will take her to Healer Blishwick in the evening. You know how it worries me to see her in pain."

Hermione's glared at him.

_What_ was with that man? In their room, he had been so bloody _rude _to her! He had even threatened her! And said he was disgusted to admit that she was his wife!

And look at him, now! He was sounding like a caring husband! Kissing her and helping her into a seat and saying he would take her to the Healer!

Well, Hermione Greengrass might have put up with his annoying behaviour. But she was Hermione _Granger! _And she _wouldn't_ act like the obedient, obsequious wife he seemed to expect her to be! Until the time she was here, she would bloody well behave like _she_ wanted to, no matter what her arrogant arse of a husband thought!

She walked to him, sitting on the chair as elegantly as she could, curbing the urge to punch his face.

"Hermione, dear," said Walburga imperiously, "I am sure you feel blessed to have a husband like Sirius. As your mother often tells me, you couldn't have found a better match."

Hermione somehow managed to stop herself from snorting.

_Blessed_? Yeah, right!

"Yes, Mother," she replied, the 'Mother' coming out a little questioningly. But Walburga merely smiled at her. So she decided that addressing Walburga as 'Mother' had been right.

"Good morning, Father, Regulus," said Sirius suddenly.

And Hermione looked to the door, where entered the two men.

Orion resembled Sirius up to an extent – his jaw was similarly shaped, as was his nose. But his grey eyes held a haughtiness and cunning which the smile he was flashing her failed to mask. She returned his smile, inclining her head slightly in greeting.

And then, she looked at the young man next to Orion._ Merlin!_ The entire family was _so _similar in looks! Even Regulus looked like Orion and Sirius – the same grey eyes, the same facial features. But what distinguished him from other two males was the young innocence in his eyes. He seemed carefree, and a surprisingly cheerful soul – for her threw her a wide smile, and then kissed Walburga's cheek lovingly. He then winked cheekily at Sirius, who rolled his eyes. The brothers seemed rather close – no sign of the disagreement and estrangement they had in her world.

But, hey—if Regulus was _so _unaffected and carefree, it meant he didn't know anything of the Locket and the Cave, yet—if the Horcruxes _did _exist here, that is.

"So," said Orion, "how are things, Sirius?"

"They are going well, Father."

"Kreacher has brought the newspaper for his Masters," croaked a younger-looking Kreacher, who appeared next to her from nowhere.

"And how are you, Hermione?" Orion asked her, and she looked at him warily. "I hope you have recovered after the events of last evening."

She made to reply, but Kreacher handed the copy of the Daily Prophet to Orion before her eyes, her reply died on her lips, eyes wide with shock again.

She knew there was an extremely important point she should have added to her earlier mental list. But in all the dressing up with Mopsy's health, she hadn't had time to consider it.

_Six: She was in the past! _

The date on the Daily Prophet said _21__st__ July, 1979._

**oOo**

**A/N:**There! I honestly don't know how that was – it's the first time I've put up something I've written alone, as I my other stories are co-authored by other writers. I'm not quite sure about the pace, but I think I should get that right with the next couple of chapters. I'm not quite sure about the chapter length, too – my co-authored story has an average chapter length of around 30k! So, thoughts on that are welcome.

The basic sketch of the path this story will take is something I've planned. But I do make up the story based on good suggestions I get from the readers. So any suggestions – either about the plot or the writing – will be appreciated, as long as there's no unreasonable bashing and flaming.

Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Thanks a ton to all those who reviewed, favourited and followed! :)

**Guest** – Thank you _so _much!

**Guest 1** – Thanks so much for reviewing! You're right about all that you wrote! A lot more on your questions in this chapter! :)

**kaykarenjasmin** – Thanks a ton!

**Guest – **Thanks! Hope you find this chapter interesting, too!

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling. I own nothing.

**oOo**

**The Darkest Black: Chapter 3**

21st July 1979

21st July, _1979! _But she had been in 2002—that meant she had gone a whole _twenty-three_ years back in time! Into a completely different world!

_Merlin! _No wonder Voldemort was still alive! Because the First War was still going on in this world! Good Lord, how was she _ever_ going to get back home? She would have to travel not only dimensions, but time, too! And she had no bloody clue how to do that!

Her stomach began churning dangerously as she thought of the people back home – Ron, Harry, Ginny, her Mum and Dad, the Weasleys—_oh Merlin! _She had lost everyone, hadn't she? There was no way to go back to her own world, her own time, her own body – at least not one she knew of.

"Hermione!" Sirius' voice caught her attention. "Are you all right? You're all pale." He sounded concerned, but she didn't give a damn to whether it was fake or genuine.

She didn't want this! Any of this! She wanted to go back home, to her own people, to her own bloody body!

"Here," said Sirius, handing a glass of water to her, and she mechanically brought it to her lips, sipping it absently, mind still numb with hopelessness, with the fear that she would never be able to go back home, fingers trembling.

As Sirius put the glass away, she looked around to find all the four Blacks staring at her. "I'm s—sorry," she sputtered, "I was j—just feeling a little queasy…" she mumbled – the first words that came to her mind.

But Walburga's face was alight with eagerness. "You're feeling queasy, Hermione? How long has this been going on?"

"Mother," said Sirius sharply.

"Come on, son," said Walburga. "If it's morning sickness—"

Hermione froze.

_Morning sickness?_

Seriously?

If she was pregnant with a Death Eater's child, she was bloody going to go mad! Stark mad!

"Hermione's not pregnant, Mother!" Sirius interrupted Walburga's hopeful words.

Walburga – and Orion – seemed visibly disappointed. Regulus, though, was watching Sirius keenly, a slight frown on his face.

"I _told_ you in the morning, Mother, that Hermione's not pregnant," said Sirius firmly. "And this isn't a conversation to have at the breakfast table."

"Let them be, Walburga," said Orion, in his startlingly deep voice. "And Sirius and Hermione know what is expected of them, don't you both?"

"Of course, Father," replied Sirius dutifully, nudging Hermione's foot with his.

Hermione glanced sideways at him. What the hell was he nudging her for? Was she supposed to say something? That she would give them a grandchild? _Ugh_! No bloody way!

"Uh—of course," she echoed Sirius, as the prodding on her foot got alarmingly urgent. "We know w—what's expected of us. I l—look forward to—to having children."

The older Black couple and Regulus smiled, and went about their breakfast.

Sirius, though, eyed her with a calculating gaze. And his sharp, pensive glances at her continued throughout the meal.

**oOo**

"Are you ready?" questioned Sirius an hour later. After breakfast, she had waited patiently, hoping to get her hands on the copy of the Daily Prophet, so that she could glean as much information about this world as she could. But Orion had kept perusing through the paper, until she had finally given up, deciding to read it when they came back from meeting 'Cissy'.

"Are you ready?" repeated Sirius coldly.

"Yes," she replied, stiffening as she realised that they would be going to Malfoy Manor. She had visited the place just once after the War – Draco Malfoy had completely refurbished the place. But she still remembered the high ceiling of the hall where she had been tortured, the dark and cold floor of the hall, the way her screams had echoed through the Manor as Bellatrix hit her repeatedly with the Crutiatus Curse.

"What's wrong with you!" hissed Sirius, roughly grabbing her hand and placing it over his arm.

She stared dumbly at him for a moment, as Sirius clenched his teeth, wrapping her hand firmly over his arm, and then began walking towards the door of Grimmauld Place.

"Wipe that expression off your face!" he hissed again, as they walked on to the street. "Smile! Act like we're a happy couple—have you forgotten what our deal was, Greengrass?"

_Deal?_

What deal?

What deal had Sirius and Hermione Greengrass made? To act like a loving couple? What for? And _why_ weren't they a happy couple in the first place? Granted Sirius was a pureblood and a Death Eater, and their marriage had probably been decided by their parents. But why did he seem to literally _hate_ her so?

As they walked on to the Muggle street – invisible to the Muggles, she concluded, as none of the passersby even glanced at their oddly-dressed forms – Hermione looked up to glance at the bright skies, only to see Walburga watching them from one of the upper windows of Grimmauld Place.

_Ah_! So all the loving couple act was for Walburga's benefit, then! Sirius, for some insane reason, seemed to want to keep his mother in the dark about his unhappy relationship with his wife, to portray that they were a happy couple…

"Are we Apparating to Malfoy Manor?" she asked Sirius quietly, freezing when he threw an extremely suspicious glance at her.

"What on earth is wrong with you?" he demanded, stopping in his tracks.

"I—I just—" she sputtered, no clue of what to say.

"Did you really hurt your head so bad? You've been strange since morning—you were babbling about 'brushing teeth', you were strange at breakfast, and now you're talking of Apparition. If you aren't feeling well, we'll go to the Healer," he said, his eyes searching her face again. His tone was just as cold as before, but it was the well-concealed concern in his eyes – though one she recognised – which gave him away.

"You _do _care, then." The words were out of her mouth before she even realised she'd uttered them. And the dark look on his face told her it had been the worst thing she could have said.

"_Greengrass_," he snarled, brusquely pulling his arm from her grip. His hand suddenly wrapped around _her _arm, as he turned her to face him, his fingernails digging painfully into her skin. "I would rather care for a filthy Muggle than care for _you_," he spat, an expression of utter hatred on his face.

She stood speechless, aghast at the rancour in his tone, in his eyes, in his very manner. His nails dug even painfully into her arm, his grip unbearably tight.

"You're hurting me," she gasped, trying to tug her arm out of his hand. And he suddenly let go, something momentarily flitting through his face, before his cold manner returned.

"I warned you – don't anger me," he said, putting a foot of distance between them. "Come on, now."

She followed him, reeling in shock at what had happened. The Sirius Black she knew would never, ever have spoken to her like that, never hurt her like this Sirius had. But this Death Eater Sirius Black—_Merlin! _She didn't bloody know _how _to deal with him!

"Apparition," he snorted contemptuously under his breath, leading them into the narrow street. And there stood the most wonderful carriage she had ever seen. It was just_ beautiful_, the silver carriage with the intricate shimmering blue engravings, with its massive wheels having fluttering wings, with the Black crest standing proudly on it, and two of the most beautiful Granian Winged Horses attached to it.

Goodness! The Blacks really were _really _rich, weren't they? The opulence of Grimmauld Place, the richly decorated room, the obscenely expensive robes, and now this: their own carriage for travel, pulled by Granians, which were one of the costliest breed of Winged Horses!

He led her into the carriage, completely invisible to the passing Muggles, the carriage doors opening magically. He didn't even help her into the carriage, only deigning to flick his wand – _her _wand, rather – to signal the Horses to begin. And the carriage took off into the bright blue skies, a slight lurch into her stomach as they began their ascent.

He sat facing her, not beside her, seeming to want to put as much distance between them as he could.

She watched him for a moment, before rubbing her arm which still hurt, the red marks of his fingers standing out against her pale skin.

Goodness! How on earth was this man Sirius Black? This dark, short-tempered, bloody violent man! And he was just _nineteen_, she realised with a jolt! The Sirius Black in her world had been born in 1960, and if they were in 1979 now, then the man in front of her was just nineteen! _Oh_, that meant he was younger than her! She was twenty-three. So he was about four years younger!

But what had made him like this? This dark, Voldemort-serving Death Eater? And where were James Potter and Remus Lupin—_Oh! _Remus was _alive_ here, she realised delightedly! She would be able to see him again! Granted he wasn't the Remus she knew, but at least it would be _Remus John Lupin_ – kind and wise, and with that part-mischievous smile which Teddy had inherited from him. _Teddy_, she thought with yet another pang. She had lost the little kid, too – Teddy, with his turquoise hair and those toothy smiles and the way he called her 'Mini', the way he called Harry 'Daddy' despite the many times Harry had told him that Remus was his father…

But if it was 1979, she realised, as a strong emotion – which she later would identify as hope – surged in the pit of her stomach, it meant _everyone_ was alive! James, Lily, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Snape, Dumbledore—_oh yes! _Dumbledore would be alive! That meant she could go talk to him, tell him that she'd dropped into this world from another one! Ask him to help her find a way back!

But she couldn't go back just like that, could she? The numbness spread through her again, as she realised that she couldn't just go back leaving this world in tatters, knowing what was to come: the Prophecy, Lily and James dying, Harry being orphaned, Neville's parents being tortured into insanity, Sirius getting thrown into Azkaban—_Wait! _This Sirius wouldn't go to Azkaban for betraying the Potters, she realised. Azkaban _was_ a potential possibility for him, but not for betraying the Potters and killing all those people – not if he wasn't James' friend. But he _could _get thrown into Azkaban here, when the War ended, like Death Eaters like the Lestranges and Rosiers were – unless Sirius managed to get off by bribing and manipulating the Wizengamot like Lucius Malfoy had. But this Death Eater _would_ deserve Azkaban, wouldn't he, unlike the wrongly-imprisoned Sirius of her world? Or could she perhaps drag him off the dark path and onto the light? After all, he was just nineteen. And beneath all his short-temper and rude exterior, there must be at least _something _of his other-worldly counterpart, right? The Sirius of her world was a good man – a bully in his teenage years, yes; short-tempered, yes; reckless, yes. But he was unflinchingly loyal – whether to James (for whom he would have given his very life) or to Harry (for whom he survived on rats for weeks)! And he was undeniably against Voldemort and the Dark. Maybe, hidden somewhere deep in the nineteen year-old Sirius in front of her, there was a spark of goodness, of loyalty, and standing up for what was right, even if it meant going against his family.

So, yes – there was no way she could go back home when there were lives she could save, men she could direct to the right path. She couldn't leave this world in the lurch. She couldn't let the Potters of this world die, couldn't let this Harry be orphaned again and live that miserable life with the Dursleys.

Merlin! _Merlin! _She would need to think it all out.

It was 1979 – that meant Harry wasn't even born in this world, five of Voldemort's Horcruxes were still in existence: the Cup, the Ring, the Diadem, the Diary and the Locket. The Cup was in Gringotts – maybe she could somehow get that, if she planned everything properly. The Diary was with Lucius Malfoy. The Locket was probably still with Voldemort, as Regulus was alive. But for the other three – the Ring in Gaunt Shack, the Diadem in Hogwarts – she would need Dumbledore's help (_if _the hiding places were the same, that is). And maybe, Dumbledore would simultaneously look into ways to take her home, too.

So, Dumbledore was the person she needed.

A sudden warmth on her arm had her starting. But she saw that the pain in her arm was gone, as were the fierce red finger-marks of Sirius' painful grip. She looked up at him, only to see him sneering back.

"I didn't heal it because I care for you," he said scathingly, "But because I don't want Cissy worrying about us, on top of everything that happened yesterday."

Hermione nodded mutely, her mind already working furiously.

What had happened yesterday? And what did he mean by Cissy worrying about them? Damn! If, after dealing with a scarily sweet Walburga all through breakfast, she would have to deal with a sweet, kind Narcissa, Hermione would certainly go nuts!

The carriage began to make a downward descent, and Hermione stared at the huge Manor that they were nearing.

"Come on, love," said Sirius pleasantly, taking her hand and helping her out of the carriage. But this time, the endearment didn't take her by surprise. She knew Sirius was putting on the happy couple act again – for Lucius Malfoy's benefit, she realised, as she spotted the blond-haired wizard standing out to greet them.

Lucius Malfoy looked immensely younger than he was in her world, and far more carefree. There was just a little hint of the smugness she remembered him carrying – and from the way he over-courteously greeted Sirius, she reckoned it was because Sirius was of a much higher standing to him – either socially or in the Death Eater hierarchy.

"Sirius, I can't thank you enough for what you did yesterday," said Lucius, shaking Sirius' hand. "If it wasn't for you—"

"Cissy is more than just a cousin – she is a sister to me, Lucius," Sirius cut him off. "I would have done anything to save her life, especially with her being in such a delicate state. I hope the baby is fine."

Oh goodness! Delicate state? Baby? Narcissa Malfoy was _pregnant_, then!

"Yes," said Lucius, smiling heartily in a manner she had never thought him capable of. "The child is fine – it's a boy, Healer McDougal said. If Narcissa carries this child to term, I will finally have my much-awaited heir!"

A _boy? _Narcissa was surely expecting Draco Malfoy, then! Hermione could almost imagine a tiny infant, with Malfoy's blond hair, and his trademark smirk! Ugh! That was a weird mental picture!

"Ah, Hermione," Lucius turned to her now. "I hope you are well. Uncle Orion mentioned that you were injured."

"I'm fine—better now," she replied, Lucius' words confirming her hunch: she had been injured yesterday, then. Was this the 'incident' Sirius had referred to? The one in which he had lost his wand? The same one in which Narcissa had apparently been saved by Sirius?

"That is very good to know," said Lucius, leading them into the Manor, which was furnished slightly differently than it was during her torture at Bellatrix's hands.

Sirius led her up the staircase, into a vast room. And there, in the middle of a huge bed, sat Narcissa Malfoy. She was _beautiful, _Hermione noticed – rather pale, and weary-looking, but very pretty, and without the dung-under-her-nose expression she remembered her carrying. Narcissa sat propped up by pillows, her hand resting on the slight, almost-unnoticeable swell of her belly, in which Draco Malfoy possibly lay curled up in his foetal form.

"Sirius," said Narcissa softly, her eyes alight as she spotted him.

"Hello, Cissy," said Sirius, leaning down to kiss Narcissa's pale cheek.

The cousins actually seemed to care for each other, noted Hermione, as she saw Narcissa put her thin arms around Sirius, kissing his forehead almost-affectionately.

"Thank you, Siri," said Narcissa, after she had flashed a polite smile at Hermione. "If you hadn't taken me out of the building, I would have lost yet another baby—"

"None of that, Cissy," said Sirius, putting his hand tenderly on her belly. "No talks of losing babies, now. I'm sure we'll be seeing this little boy in six month's time. And you'll be a great mother… I know you will."

"I hope so," replied Narcissa, eyes bright with emotion, making Hermione sympathise with her. Looked like Narcissa had miscarried a child earlier – and she seemed to fear a repeat.

"Now, you better get some rest. I need to talk to Lucius about certain matters," said Sirius. "Hermione can keep you company."

"All right," responded Narcissa, and Sirius departed with what seemed like a warning glare at Hermione.

"Hermione," said Narcissa coolly, as Hermione stiffened, no idea of what to say.

"Narcissa," responded Hermione, trying to behave nonchalantly.

In a sudden gesture, Narcissa caught hold of Hermione's wrist, holding it with strength that belied her tired-looking form. Goodness! What was with these Black cousins and their vice-like grips?

"I know what you're up to," hissed Narcissa, staring fiercely at her.

"W—what?" said Hermione, oh-so-eloquently, tugging her poor wrist out of Narcissa's grip.

"I know what you're doing—and I'm warning you, if you hurt my cousin, I'll see to it that you're hit where it will hurt you the most," said Narcissa coldly, still glaring at her.

Hermione stared back speechlessly. What the hell was Narcissa on about? Why would Hermione hurt her cousin – Sirius, she supposed? And what on _earth_ had Hermione Greengrass been up to?

"Sirius has carried all the burdens of the family on his shoulders since he was a child," went on Narcissa. "All I want is to see him happy now. And you are _hurting_ him with your deeds. You either put a stop to it, or you annul your marriage. I will not have Sirius ruin his life by staying tied to a back-stabber like you!"

"Back-stabber?" exclaimed Hermione, affronted.

Who the hell was Narcissa to give her an ultimatum about her marriage? And what did she mean by back-stabber? Hermione – and any counterparts of her in any other dimensions – would never, _ever _back-stab anyone! She was _loyal_, for Merlin's sake! She had been the one person to stay by Harry's side when even Ron hadn't! She would never back-stab anyone!

"You very well know what I mean," snapped Narcissa coldly.

_'I don't know!'_ Hermione wanted to snap back, but she knew that wouldn't do. Sirius was already suspicious about her. She couldn't add Narcissa to the list.

"Okay," she muttered finally, in reply to Narcissa 'stop-or-annul' ultimatum.

"I may be confined to bed for the next few days, but remember, Hermione, I have many sources who will give me an account of your doings," said Narcissa.

"Okay," muttered Hermione again.

"You may get out of my sight now," said Narcissa, making Hermione want to flare up again at her brusqueness. But she decided to just leave.

"Take care," Hermione said, with a glance at Narcissa's belly, and then walked out of the room, deciding to go down the staircase to the drawing room below.

But she stopped midway through the corridor, as she heard voices coming from room beside her.

"—what's the count on their side?" It was Sirius.

"Two. The Prewett twins are dead. Good riddance, I say—" came the reply – Lucius' voice.

"What did the Dark Lord say?"

"He is pleased. With the Prewetts dead, the Order of the Phoenix's front line of resistance is gone."

"Right. The twins were courageous fighters… Never gave up, and their spellwork was unerring in duels," agreed Sirius, and Hermione wondered whether she had imagined the slight tinge of admiration in his voice.

"The Dark Lord wants to meet you tonight. He believes that the War is as good as won by us. Dumbledore's death started the end of their defeat," said Lucius, as Hermione reeled in shock.

_Dumbledore's death? _

Dumbledore was dead, then! _Dead! _How would she ever get the Horcruxes? She didn't even know where the Cave was! And how would she ever get back home without Dumbledore to help her?

"—the Dark Lord is being too hasty, Lucius. There's one last man who stands between us and victory. With the Prewetts dead, _he_ will lead the Order, now—" said Sirius, as Hermione strained her ears, trying to listen to them above the frantic pounding of her heart.

Dead. Dumbledore was dead. There was no one who could help her go home, now… no one she could trust. She just couldn't get that out of her mind.

"—he won't. He's too young—"

"Everyone said I was too young when I rose up the ranks, Lucius!"

"That's true, but with Moody and Bones and McGonagall—"

"Moody is too busy leading the Aurors, trying to manage the force, recruit new blood. And Bones is occupied with Wizengamot hearings, trying to weed out our moles from the DMLE. McGonagall is busy trying to keep us out of Hogwarts," replied Sirius.

"So you're sure he will lead the Order, now? The Dark Lord relies the most on your strategies and reasoning, Sirius. If you get this wrong—"

"I won't be wrong," said Sirius confidently. "James Potter will lead the Order."

_Fuck! _

James Potter leading the Order?

Against Sirius? His best friend?

Maybe they weren't best friends in this world! Maybe they were sworn enemies! With Sirius most likely seeming like he was in Slytherin, James and Sirius would probably have been arch-enemies in school! Like James and Snape were!

Circe's wand! This was all insane! This entire world was completely messed up!

"Hermione!" a jovial voice from behind her had her jumping in shock. She turned around to see an unfamiliar couple: a dark-haired woman, and a blond-haired man.

"What are you doing here, listening at doors—" began the woman incredulously.

"I was just about to knock on the door—to talk to Sirius!" said Hermione hastily, just as Sirius and Lucius opened the door and came out, Sirius sending that now-familiar suspicious gaze at her.

"Hello, Sirius, Lucius," said the blond-haired man.

"Hello, Mr Greengrass, Mrs Greengrass," said Sirius politely, as Lucius shook the man's hand.

"Oh, none of this 'Mr and Mrs Greengrass', son! Call us Belinda and Theodore! We're your in-laws… your family. No need of all this formality!" said the woman – Hermione Greengrass's _mother, _Hermione realised with a jolt. Merlin! She was nothing like her own mother was! This woman – with her dark hair and rather wild eyes – nothing like her kind-faced, loving mother was. And the man—Mr Greengrass was nothing like Hermione's cheerful, witty father. On the contrary, he had merely smiled a thin-lipped smile at Hermione, showing no happiness at meeting his daughter.

"All right, Mrs G—Belinda," said Sirius, smiling what seemed like a forced smile.

"We came to meet Narcissa, Lucius," said Belinda—_mother, _Hermione corrected mentally. She would have to get used to calling her 'mother' if she wanted to arouse no suspicions. _How_ was she ever going to convince Belinda Greengrass that she was her own daughter? A mother knew her child in and out, didn't she? Belinda would figure out in a trice that her daughter was different! She would need to be alert all the time around the woman.

"Hermione, wait here, dear. We'll meet Narcissa and come back. Don't leave – it's been days since we've met you," said Belinda.

"Of course, Mother," said Hermione dutifully, watching Lucius lead the couple to Narcissa's room.

The minute they were out of sight, Sirius – yet again – grabbed her arm and literally dragged her into the room, shutting the door behind them. He threw her into the wall, caging her with his arms on both sides of her, his palms resting against the wall.

"You were eavesdropping, weren't you?", he demanded, his darkening eyes boring into hers, his face within inches of hers, his hot breath on her lips, as she almost went cross-eyed trying to maintain eye-contact with him.

"You were bloody eavesdropping—again!" he growled.

"I wasn't," she protested, trembling, her heartbeats racing as she feared what he would do in his rage. If she had her wand, she would have bloody sent him flying into the air. But she was unarmed now.

"I warned you—I fucking _warned_ you not to get into my path!" he snarled, making a shudder run up her spine as she noticed the raw fury, the frightening darkness on his features. She moved her knee slightly, ready to aim it into his crotch if he tried to hurt her. She didn't have a wand, but she could knee him where it would hurt him the most.

But Sirius, who seemed impossibly swift-minded, only muttered something under his breath, and she felt her legs lock into place, unable to even feel them.

"You bloody bastard—" she swore uncharacteristically, furious at the loss of feeling in her legs, at the sudden powerlessness she felt, frustrated that she somehow couldn't seem to effect magic wandlessly.

But Sirius suddenly stilled at her words, gaping at her.

"You—what the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded. "You just swore—you _actually swore! _

Damn! Double damn! Hermione Greengrass didn't swear, did she? Of course she didn't! She was a pureblood who had probably been taught by the best of tutors to act all ladylike! She would never swear!

"Hermione—" came a voice from outside the room, and the door was flung open, only for Belinda Greengrass to appear, staring at them both.

Sirius let go of Hermione swiftly, as she suddenly regained use of her legs again.

"If—if I interrupted you—" began Belinda, as Hermione involuntarily felt her face heating up, realising how the scene must have looked to the woman: Hermione pushed against the wall, with Sirius pressed to her, their faces within inches of each other! Oh Merlin! This was so weird! And rather embarrassing – even if the woman wasn't Hermione's own mother.

"You didn't interrupt, Belinda," said Sirius smoothly. "I'm sure you have much to talk to Hermione. I will go resume my talk with Lucius." And with that, he exited the room without a backward glance at the two witches.

"What was that!" asked Belinda joyously, shutting the door.

"Nothing," replied Hermione, at a loss of words yet again. How were Hermione Greengrass' relations with her mother? Hermione had supposedly been injured yesterday, but Belinda wasn't showing much concern for her daughter – none of the warm hugs and worried questioning Hermione's real Mum would've done, she thought sadly.

"Nothing?" demanded Belinda. "I saw you both! Were you—"

"No!" exclaimed Hermione, wondering how much the woman knew about her daughter and son-in-law's relationship – or the apparent lack of it. "We were just—"

"No?" asked Belinda, voice stern now. "Don't tell me you haven't consummated the marriage yet, Hermione!"

Oh Merlin! Hermione and Sirius hadn't consummated their marriage yet? That was strange—all right, _not_ so strange considering how much Sirius seemed to hate her. But nevertheless, she didn't feel like discussing her dimensional counterpart's sex life with her mother.

"Mother," said Hermione. "I don't want to talk of this…"

"What do you mean you don't want to talk?" said Belinda, annoyed. "It's been two months since your wedding, young lady! Why haven't you slept with him yet? You do realise that _you_ have to birth the next Black heir, don't you? That's why I had you married to Sirius! So that your son would be the future Lord Black, inherit the Black title and wealth! I spent years and years getting Walburga to agree to the marriage, and look at you! Refusing to accept him, refusing to do your wifely duties—"

"But—"

"No buts, Hermione!" said Belinda sternly. "I know you think Sirius has a mistress—"

"What!" exclaimed Hermione.

_Mistress? _

Sirius had a bloody mistress? When he was married to Hermione!

That wasn't done! That just wasn't done! She _couldn't _allow Sirius to undermine his marriage to Hermione Greengrass by going around with mistresses!

"Why are you sounding so surprised? You were the one who told me you saw him with that woman, that day!" said Belinda incredulously. "Aren't you well, Hermione? Were you hurt too badly yesterday? Don't you remember—"

"I'm fine, Mum—Mother," Hermione corrected herself hastily. "I'm fine."

"Look," said Belinda, "Even if Sirius does have a mistress, you ignore it. _You _are his wife! _You_ get to be the future Lady Black. And once you lie with him, he might even stop seeing that woman. If you refuse to let him touch you, how can you expect him to remain with an unyielding wife, Hermione? He is a man. He has his needs."

Hermione grit her teeth, the woman's archaic words getting on her nerves. Which century did she live in? Sirius' needs? Wifely duties? Mistresses? Merlin, Ron and Molly seemed very much forward-minded now!

"Ignore the woman. You are his wife. And I expect you to have a child in your belly in the next couple of months! Remember, that Walburga is planning to get Regulus betrothed soon. If you don't beget a son, Regulus' future son will inherit the Lordship and the Black wealth. And I don't ever want that happening!" went on Belinda.

Hermione nodded, pursing her lips to escape a heated retort from passing out.

"Come now," said Belinda, leading her out of the room and down the staircase, Hermione walking in a daze.

Sirius had a _mistress! _He was having cheating on Hermione – even if it was Hermione Greengrass and not Granger! But she would teach that cheating arse a lesson! By the time she went back to her world, she would have Sirius well and truly reformed! He wouldn't dare think of cheating on his wife!

"Ah, Hermione," said Sirius on spotting them. "You can take the carriage home. I am going to Ollivanders."

"Take Hermione along with you, son," put in Belinda eagerly. "Hermione wanted to check out Madam Tatting's new collection of silk robes, didn't you, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded as Belinda threw her a stern glance.

"But, I don't think—" began Sirius stiffly, but Belinda intervened again, refusing to take no for an answer.

And fifteen minutes later, Hermione found herself descending from the carriage again, right outside the Leaky Cauldron.

"Stay close to me," muttered Sirius gruffly, as they walked into Diagon Alley, Hermione finding people hurriedly making way for them, some of them staring fearfully at Sirius. She walked right behind him, worried he would randomly send curses at the crowd – like she had heard the Death Eaters had taken to doing during the Second War. But Sirius just walked silently, wand gripped tightly in his hand, neck intermittently turning leftwards and rightwards.

Hermione followed him close behind, aghast at seeing Diagon Alley look like it had during the War – shops shut, shoppers walking swiftly, posters of wanted criminals stuck to a wall…

"Get in," said Sirius, opening the door to Twilfitt and Tatting's.

"Ah! Mrs Black!" exclaimed who Hermione supposed was Mrs Tatting. "I have an excellent collection of robes – all in the cerulean blue shade you wanted!"

"Stay here," said Sirius, putting on a smile for Mrs Tatting's benefit. "I'll buy my wand and come back. Buy your robes on the family tab, as always, but keep this." He handed a little bag to her, and Hermione realised that it contained galleons. She had an immense urge to roll her eyes. Look at him! Handing over money to her like she was some housewitch who depended on her husband for money – not that there was something wrong with that. Hermione respected women like Molly who remained home to take care of the house and the kids. But it wasn't something that sat well with Hermione, who had been used to earning her own money since she was twenty.

Sirius departed, leaving Hermione to be fussed over by Madam Tatting, shown at least fifty robes in the same shade of cerulean blue. It looked like the Hermione of this world was very particular about her clothes.

Suddenly, the glass of the window shattered, and the street outside was ringing with a loud blast. Hermione instinctively reached her pocket for her wand, cursing herself when she realised she didn't have one.

Madam Tatting screamed as yet another row of windows shattered, a series of loud blasts coming from the street.

"Stay there!" ordered Hermione, pushing Madam Tatting under the nearest table, making to grab her wand from her hand. The wand wouldn't work as well as her own one did, but it would have to do – and it was sitting uselessly in Madam Tatting's scared hands, anyway.

But the door slammed open before Hermione could get to Madam Tatting's wand.

"Shit!" Hermione swore reflexively, extending her hand further to reach the wand trembling in Madam Tatting's hand under the table, an incantation at the tip of her tongue. But a familiar man walked in through the door.

"Hermione!" yelled Sirius, hair dishevelled, a deep gash on his cheek, face furious. "Come on! We need to get out of here!"

She ran to him instinctively, seeing some of _her _Sirius in the concern for her that was etched on her face. He grabbed her hand tightly, pulling her behind him, shielding her with his body.

"Stay close to me!" he barked, thrusting a wand into her hand – _her _wand, she realised as a slight warmth rushed from the tips of her fingers to her very toes – or maybe that was just her happiness at being reunited with her wand, even if it wasn't the same one she had used for the past twelve years.

"STUPEFY!" yelled Sirius, a spell shooting from the tip of his wand towards a seemingly blank stretch of wall. But Hermione heard the thud of someone falling to the ground the very next moment.

"Expulso!" shrieked Sirius again, blasting away the door of Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"Don't do that!" yelled Hermione, aghast as she saw someone fall to the ground, his face bloodied from the explosion.

"Shut the fuck up! And stay close to me!" snapped Sirius furiously. "Accio cup!" he added, summoning an empty ice-cream cup lying on the floor nearby, when suddenly, someone let out a frightful, furious bellow: "BLACK! YOU BASTARD!"

It was Mad Eye Moody! A younger Mad Eye, but Mad Eye Moody nevertheless, with his grizzled face and rapidly rotating magical eye and the wooden leg.

"EXPULSO!" shrieked Mad Eye, the curse zooming towards Sirius, who had his wand aiming at the empty cup in his hands.

"Protego!" Hermione realised that she had cast the Shield Charm only after the words had left her lips, after her hand had moved her wand.

The Exploding Curse hit her shield, and rebounded right back at Mad Eye, a loud bang erupting from the blast, Mad Eye getting buried under the debris.

"NO!" she gasped, aghast at what she had done. She had hurt Mad Eye! She had tried to defend Sirius – a Death Eater!

"Take this!" said Sirius, thrusting the cup, which was now glowing blue, into her hands. "And don't tell the family I'm here—they'll worry!

"No!" she exclaimed. She couldn't take the Portkey! She couldn't leave them behind to fight and hurt each other! They should've bloody been on the same side! Sirius fighting Mad Eye, whom he had looked up to, in her world!

But the cup grew bluer and hotter, and the last thing she saw before she felt the tug at her navel was a very familiar-faced, messy-haired man rushing towards them, fury writ large on his face, screaming that he would kill Sirius if Mad Eye was dead, the only thing setting him apart from Harry were his blazing hazel eyes: James Potter.

**oOo**

Minutes later, Hermione was pacing around the room she shared with Sirius, in Grimmauld Place. She had kept her word to Sirius, fending off Walburga's enquiries about her son's absence with some excuse.

Merlin! James Potter! He looked so much like Harry! And that made the sight even more eerier! A Harry lookalike rushing towards Sirius with his wand raised, threatening to kill him.

Good Lord! What the hell was wrong with this world?

Dumbledore dead. Sirius and James Potter duelling. Sirius having a mistress – not that that bit was important now.

She paced around even more speedily, debating whether she should go back to Diagon Alley. She couldn't let Sirius and James kill each other. She just _couldn't._

Making up her mind, she moved towards the door, deciding to Apparate there, to help diffuse the fight. But as she opened the door, a bloodied Sirius almost fell into her, before he roughly pushed her aside.

"You're bleeding!" she remarked lamely, staring at the deep gash in his arm with blood rapidly oozing out of it, at his limping leg, at his bloodied face with the cuts and scratches.

"That's very observant of you, Greengrass," he spat, as he threw his wand away and gingerly extricated his bleeding arm out of the blood-soaked sleeve.

She moved forward reflexively, making to help him out of the robe, but he brushed her hands away.

"Don't touch me," he snarled, wincing as he took off the robe with much effort, and she gaped at the bruises on his torso.

"You're bleeding—let me help you," she said firmly, only to be rebuffed again.

"Just pass me my wand. I can heal myself, Greengrass – this isn't the first time I've got injured. I don't need help… especially _your _help," he muttered.

"Have it your way, then," she snapped, wondering how to ask him about whether James and Mad Eye were fine, simultaneously reaching for Sirius' wand which he'd thrown on the bed.

But her hand froze mid-motion as her eyes fell on the wand.

She could have recognised the wand anywhere: thirteen and a half inches, Holly, with a core made of the feather of a Phoenix which had given only the one other feather: that which formed the core of a Yew wand. It was Harry's wand – there was no doubt about it! It was the brother of the wand belonging to the Dark Lord! The wand was supposed to chose the wizard who would vanquish Voldemort!

"Th—this is your new wand?" she whispered, staring at it. "H—holly and Phoenix Feather?"

"Yes," he confirmed, meeting her wide-eyed, shocked gaze with a surprised, curious one. "How do you know?"

**oOo**

A/N: Thoughts on this would be lovely! Thanks for reading! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**Been months since I've updated, but studies and then an unexpected but long-desired trip to Europe kept me busy. So, without further delay, here's the new chapter :-)

Thanks a ton for all the lovely and encouraging reviews! Made me get down to writing this chapter when I went through a bit of writer's block for this story :-)

**oOo**

**The Darkest Black: Chapter 4**

"Kneazle got your tongue, Greengrass?" Sirius growled, as Hermione stared at the wand, stunned.

_How _on earth did Sirius have Harry's wand—the Holly and Phoenix feather one! That wand was meant for the person who'd defeat Voldemort! But Sirius—he was a _Death Eater_ for Merlin's sake! He couldn't be destined to be the one to vanquish Voldemort, could he? Not this short-tempered, arrogant, Dark Magic-loving arse!

"I asked you how you know my wand," Sirius repeated, his voice terse, with a warning edge that made her want to glare at him.

"I'd seen it years ago," she said with a calm she wasn't feeling, swiftly thinking up a believable-enough story, "when I went to Ollivander's shop to buy my wand… when I got my Hogwarts letter. I'd tried this one out first, that's why I remember it… the first wand I tried – Holly and Phoenix feather, Ollivander said. But it didn't work well for me, so I tried out a couple of more wands and—"

Sirius stood up suddenly, the frighteningly dark fury in his eyes making her fall abruptly silent.

"You're _lying_," he growled, advancing towards her, even the pain and the blood oozing from his wounds seemingly not mattering to him. "I've _told _you, Greengrass, do _not _lie to me!" he spat. "Do you take me for a fool? _Me, _of all people!"

She stiffened, her body yearning to step away from him. But she hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor for nothing. She straightened up instead, meeting his ire-filled glare with a cool gaze of her own, her hand itching to snatch her wand for self-defence, but deciding it would only fuel his anger further.

"I'm—I'm not—" she began, at a loss of what to say despite her unaffectedly cool demeanour. She glanced at his wounds again, the blood making her stomach churn. It was after years that she was witnessing a bloodied wound from such close quarters. Her job in the Ministry didn't involve anything to do with blood and injuries. And Teddy's little scrapes and cuts suffered while playing with Victoire never bled as nauseatingly.

"Let me heal that—" she began, even though she knew letting her treat him was the last thing the enraged wizard would do.

"You're not a fool, Greengrass – and I know that just as well as you do," he snarled, cutting her off as if he hadn't even heard her. "If you're going to lie to me, put those brains of yours to some use! At least make up believable lies instead of behaving like those dim-witted, simpering girls who hover around me in parties and balls. You're Hermione Adrianna Greengrass—you never _put a foot_ in Ollivander's! You've been using your wand since long before you got your Hogwarts letter—and that dratted wand belongs to your great-grandmother Minisa Greengrass!" His voice grew louder with each word he uttered, and she stilled, a chill creeping up her spine.

How on _earth_ was she to know that the Greengrasses were like the Blacks, that they trained their children in magic long before they turned eleven, uncaring of the laws that forbid children younger than eleven from performing magic with a wand?  
Daphne Greengrass – the one she remembered from her school days – had purchased her wand at Ollivander's; Hermione had seen her in the wandmaker's shop the same day she'd visited Diagon Alley to purchase her school stuff. And the thought that Hermione Greengrass could've been different, that House Greengrass of this strange world was more Black-like than that in her own, hadn't even crossed her mind!

And now, there was no way she could get out of this mess! She'd spewed out utter nonsense about trying the Phoenix wand in Ollivander's shop when _this_ Hermione hadn't even had to visit the bloody shop! When her wand had belonged to some great-grandmother of hers!

"Why did you lie to me?" Sirius demanded, grabbing hold of her elbow, his hands cold on her skin. "Tell me why you lied before I make you regret it—don't you dare test my patience, Greengrass. I've been observing you since morning—you're behaving strangely… but _this? _This miserable bit of lies that you just uttered—that's not like you at all—"

"I—I was just—I didn't mean to—" she stuttered, not an inkling of how she could get out of this mess. _Nothing _she said could justify the lame excuse she'd given him. _Nothing _could convince him that everything was fine.

"_Tell me!" _he roared even louder, letting go of her elbow and stepping away as if he was afraid his fury would inadvertently cause her some harm. "Don't make me hurt you, Greengrass—you know I've never raised a hand to you, never used my wand on you… don't force my hand—" He stopped abruptly, his gaze snapping to his forearm, where the Dark Mark seemed to have turned darker.

"I have to go," he snapped, swishing his new wand easily over his wounds, a pale blue light streaming from the wand-tip, stopping the blood flow, knitting the wounded skin into a clean, unmarred lighter patch that rapidly turned the colour of the unaffected skin around it, setting her curiosity alight as she wondered which spell he had used; none of the healing spells she knew healed magical injuries so swiftly and completely. But she couldn't ask him about that now, of course, unless she really wanted him to hex her or something.

He turned away from her, facing the mirror, coolly surveying the wounds marring his torso, the cuts and scratches on his pale face. He stepped out of his silk trousers, healing the wound on his limping leg, before he walked towards the adjoining room attached to theirs, where she knew their combined massive wardrobe lay, her stomach doing a little flop as she noticed that all that remained of his clothes was his pair of expensive-looking silk boxers now. Her eyes caught the slight rippling of the muscles in his back as he twisted the door knob, her cheeks heating up as she decided that he possessed a rather toned and – dare she say it – _sexy _arse!

_Merlin and Morgana_! She was openly, unabashedly ogling at him! Admiring his behind _and _his chest as he entered the room again, halfway through donning a new Death Eater robe! She was in a relationship with Ron for Merlin's sake! And here, she was making mental notes on Sirius Black's half-naked body!

The thought of Ron sobered her up enough for her to take her glance off his torso and notice that his anger seemed to have reduced now – even disappeared altogether from the looks of it. He buttoned up his new robe, opening his bedside cabinet and retrieving a Death Eater mask that lay within, the ease and indifference with which he pocketed it making her heart clench as she thought of theSirius in her world, who'd have died rather than don Voldemort's supporters' attire.

He breathed deeply, his face betraying no signs of the rage it had contained mere moments ago, and she realised why: he was calming his mind, suppressing all sentiment and emotion, no doubt preparing to shield his thought in case the Dark Lord performed Legilimency on him.

"I'm going now," he said coldly as he grabbed his new wand. "But don't think that I've forgotten this, Greengrass," he sneered. "I'll be back soon, and I'll be prising the answers out of you whether you wish to divulge them or not."

And with that, he strode towards the door, coming to a stop as he reached it. He turned around and stared at her for a long moment, rather like he wanted to say something. She didn't look away, holding his gaze defiantly, until he walked away again and disappeared from her sight, no doubt deciding that what he had to say wasn't worth his time and effort.

She sunk into their bed, shutting the door with a flick of her wand, only now realising that her heart was hammering wildly in her ribcage – either because of his fury or because of ogling at his delectable physique. It was because of the former, she decided, willing away the thoughts of how his lips had been pressed to hers merely hours ago – even if was a kiss for maintaining the happy couple façade.

Goodness! She was a twenty four year-old, intelligent, composed witch for heaven's sake! Not a hormonal teenager of the likes of Lavender Brown! Of course, there was nothing wrong with admiring a hot bloke, but Hermione _Granger_ would _never _have done that! Never have checked a bloke out when she was in potential danger, when he'd been on the verge of turning his wand on her – even if, in a little corner of her mind, she believed that Sirius wouldn't have really hurt her, which in itself was a very un-Hermione-like assumption to make!

It was this teenaged body of hers that was the problem, she decided. That's why she was behaving like a silly girl who mooned over blokes rather than the wise _woman _that she really was. She breathed deeply, and then grabbed her wand, at a loss of what to do now. The bed looked very inviting; she wanted nothing better than to go to sleep, only now realising that she felt tired. But she wouldn't sleep, not now when the rest of the household was asleep, when it gave her a chance to gather more information on this strange world she'd landed in.

She walked out of the room, wand gripped firmly in her hand, wondering where to begin the perusal of the house from. There were only three rooms on this level, she noticed: the one she shared with Sirius, another was an unoccupied room with some elegant-looking furniture, and the one opposite it was Sirius' study. The study was smaller than their room, but still large enough to have fit a couple of Muggle flats. Everything was kept very neatly, though the room bore signs of frequent use: the books in the large bookshelf seemed like they were handled routinely, a patch of carpet on one end of the room seemed more worn out than the rest of its expanse, as if someone frequently paced over it, the quills kept in the quill-stand, too, seemed like they were put to use often. She touched nothing, deciding, from the looks of the couple's relationship, that Hermione Greengrass probably didn't venture much into her husband's study; and she didn't want Sirius to notice that she'd visited the room.

But when her gaze fell on a copy of a newspaper, she grabbed it quickly, whispering a 'Geminio' and pocketing the copy, deciding to read it after she was done with checking out the rest of the house.

She silently exited the room, when she had nothing more to glean from it; Sirius seemed rather particular about maintaining secrecy about the work he did in the study: nothing she'd seen in the parchments on the table contained anything of importance.

She crept towards the staircase, deciding to take the upper storeys first, the stairs all dusted and gleaming unlike how they'd been in her fifth of school.

She reached the topmost floor of the house, finding it very familiar. The '_Do not enter without the express permission of Regulus Black' _on the shut door of the room caught her gaze. So Regulus still used the room he'd used in her world, then. She looked opposite Regulus' room, reading _Sirius Black _on the door.  
It seemed that after their wedding, Sirius had moved out of his childhood room and into the room he presently shared with her… _not _her own self, she corrected herself indignantly. He shared the room with Hermione Greengrass, not with Hermione Granger, who was what she was – something she'd have to keep reminding herself, keep making a clear distinction between her mind and soul, and the body she now occupied.

She tried to open the door to the room, twisting the doorknob, but the door stayed shut. She flicked her wand, whispering an 'Alohomora', but the door didn't budge. She tried yet another advanced spell she'd learnt in the days before the Battle of Hogwarts, but even that had no effect on the unyielding door.

She sighed, deciding to continue through the rest of the house, knowing she didn't have much time left until Sirius would make a return. But before she could turn around, a hand touched her on the shoulder.

She spun around sharply, wand raised, an incantation at the tip of her tongue, heart thudding as she wondered whether it was Sirius again, back from his Death Eater meeting, or Orion or Walburga, none of whom she wanted to deal with. But it wasn't any of them. It was Regulus.

"Whoa!" he said, staring at her wand, his own hand halfway through grabbing his own wand which was sticking out of his pocket. "It's me, 'Mione!" he said, his hand lowering from its path to his own wand, and she lowered her own wand.

'_Mione!_

He'd called her 'Mione! As if he was on good, close terms with her! It was something Ron and George and Ginny would sometimes call her affectionately, hearing the familiar word from Regulus making her feel rather warm within.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I just got startled—I didn't mean to—"

"It's alright, 'Mione," he said, his voice softer than Sirius' low tenor, younger and more carefree than his older brother's. "Everyone's jittery nowadays, what with all that's been going on…"

She nodded, returning his smile with an almost genuine one. Regulus seemed as friendly with her as Sirius had been cold, his grin as cheerful as Sirius' glare had been furious.

"What are you doing here?" Regulus asked her. "You know you can't get in, right? He's charmed the door shut—even Kreacher and Mother couldn't get in…"

But something about the twinkle in his grey eyes and the cocky smirk on his face told her that _he, _perhaps, knew more than Walburga and the elf did about the charms on the door.

"But _you_ can get in, can't you?" she asked him, raising a sly eyebrow.

"I can." He winked at her. "I'm the smarter brother, as I always tell him. Took me three months, but I got through the spells he's put up… though he doesn't know yet—he'd hex me if he did… doesn't want anyone entering. It's been months since he's been here himself…"

"Will you let me in, Regulus?" she said with a grin.

"Not until you tell me why you're suddenly calling me 'Regulus' instead of 'Reg'," he said, frowning, his face as expressive as Sirius' had been shuttered of emotions other than anger.

"Yesterday's incident seems to have addled my mind a bit, eh?" she said, attempting a genuine-sounding chuckle, "Or why would I call my favourite brother-in-law Regulus instead of Reg?"

"I'm your _only _brother-in-law, 'Mione," he said, grinning teasingly, seemingly accepting her lame excuse. "But if you're seriously not alright, you should visit the Healer again. Sirius must be worried about your health. Even Mother is, to be honest, but that's only because she can't wait for Sirius and you to have a roll in the sack and give her a handful of little grandsons soon!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, noting the 'grandsons'. So Walburga only wanted male heirs to carry on the family line, did she? Not grandchildren to spoil and play with. Typical Black, she thought, snorting, a sliver of sadness seeping through as she remembered her Dad pulling her leg about having her settle down with Ron and give her a little bushy-haired granddaughter to pamper.

She pushed the memory away, and watched Regulus twirl his wand in intricate motions, a little purple spell of light intermittently shooting from his wand. He was extremely adept at non-verbal spells, she noticed. He wasn't even whispering the words of the incantations he was employing; his spellwork seemed effortless, performed with the ease of a wizard well-versed with advanced magic.

"There!" he exclaimed triumphantly, Hermione returning his infectious grin.

He opened the door to the room, and they walked in, Hermione staring into the darkness until her eyes adjusted to it. She heard Regulus' wand swoosh through the air, and the lamps in the room flickered to life.

She gasped at what she saw as light flooded the room: where _her_ Sirius' room had been full of Gryffindor colours and things that strived to set him apart from his family, this Sirius' room was bathed in silver and green, just like their bedroom a level below. The bed was covered with sheets of Slytherin green, the headrest made of dull, dusty silver which would surely glitter if she cast a 'Tergeo'. There was a Slytherin banner on the wall, the snake on it drawn in a younger boy's hand. Has Sirius drawn it himself when he was younger? It seemed so very unlike the Sirius of her world; there had been a Gryffindor banner in its place, with a roaring lion on it.

Where the Sirius-of-her-world's room had posters of bikini-clad girls on the wall, the wall of this room only had photographs of Sirius and Regulus at various stages of their lives: a newborn Sirius in Walburga's proud arms, a toddler Sirius sitting next to a squealing, infant Regulus, both the boys dressed in their identical Slytherin robes when they were a little older, the two boys in Slytherin Quidditch robes, Sirius a Chaser and Regulus a Seeker, the Quidditch Cup held aloft in their hands, another picture of what looked like the two boys with their two sets of grandparents, and one which had Orion, Walburga, Sirius and Regulus.

And the camaraderie between the brothers, the identical grins on their faces – a sharp contrast to their sullen-faced pictures she'd seen in her world – only made her certain that, in this world, Sirius and Regulus loved each other. It also struck her that that Regulus loved and trusted Hermione Greengrass enough to let her into his much-loved brother's secret den. And she felt a sudden spurt of affection for the young boy she didn't even know well enough.

On a sudden whim, she looked up at the ceiling, staring at it in amazement when she saw that it depicted the night sky, the stars and constellations for which various Blacks were names twinkling far brighter than the other stars. It was a beautiful sight, she thought, wondering whether it employed the similar spells used on the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall in Hogwarts.

But she forgot all of that when she turned towards the wall, which, in her world, had a huge photograph of the Marauders. Here, instead of the Marauders, there lay a magnificent, huge photograph of four people: a tall Bellatrix, her dark eyes glittering, her curls framing her surprisingly beautiful face, her lips pulling into a careless smile; to her right was Narcissa, looking even prettier than Bellatrix, her hair fair where her sister's was dark, her eyes cool where her sister's were wild, her lips stretching only slightly where her sister's widened. Then, there was Regulus – a much younger Regulus, a wide grin on his face, his arm around Narcissa's shoulders, and the other arm around the shoulders of Sirius, who stood right alongside him. It was the identical grin on Sirius' face which told her that he was happy to be part of the photograph. The photographic Sirius turned sideways, giving his brother and cousins a cheery smile, and then he turned to his right, flashing a grin to the blank expanse of the photograph next to him, before the magical photograph went back to him staring at the lens.

She frowned, before realisation struck her, knowing exactly why Sirius was grinning at the blank space on his right.

"Yeah," said Regulus softly, reading her very thoughts. "There was Andy standing here—Andromeda—the blood traitor, I mean—" he amended himself hastily, his voice curt as he uttered the insult, losing his hitherto cheerfulness. "Sirius wiped her out of this when she married that Mudblood."

Hermione stiffened at the insult, a rebuke at the tip of her tongue before she swallowed it, not wanting to give Regulus any reason to suspect her.

It pained her that this Sirius had wiped Andromeda off the photograph. The Sirius she knew wouldn't ever have done that. He'd told Harry that he'd kept in touch with Andromeda until he'd been thrown in Azkaban. And he'd had a soft corner for Tonks because she was his favourite cousin's daughter.

But Andromeda apart, she couldn't help but notice that the Black cousins in this world were far, far different from the ones she'd known. "You love each other… all of you," she whispered, more to herself, noting the visible friendliness between the cousins' photographic selves. It seemed so very strange, particularly when Bellatrix had killed Sirius, pushing him through the veil, when Narcissa hadn't felt even a bit of sorrow at her cousin's death, when Sirius had hated the two sisters with a ferocious rancour, when he never even spoke of Regulus who had joined the Death Eaters, uncaring of his older brother who'd run away from home and joined the Light.

"'Course we do!" said Regulus easily, "As if you didn't know that!"

"I _do _know that," she said hastily, "But I've never seen this picture before. It's lovely!"

"Oh yes," said Regulus, "I forgot you'd never been in this room. Mother never let you, did she? Remember her sending Kreacher as a chaperone with Sirius and you?" he added, chuckling.

"I do," she said brightly, forcing a giggle.

"As if Kreacher ever managed to keep Sirius away from you!" he said, eyebrows waggling teasingly. "I know what both of you were up to, 'Mione—I saw you in the street behind Fortesque's once, snogging like crazy, Sirius' hand up your—"

"What!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening.

Sirius _snogging _her? The man _hated _her for Merlin's sake! He said he'd rather be with a 'filthy Muggle' than be with her! And he'd been snogging _her? _With his hand up her—wherever his hand had been?

"Come on, now," laughed Regulus, nudging her shoulder playfully with his own. "Don't be all coy and innocent, 'Mione! I saw you with my own eyes! I was there, out with—" he stopped abruptly, his cheeks turning pink ever-so-slightly.

_Ah! _So Regulus was out with someone that day! It was a girl probably! Was he dating someone secretly? It was no business of hers, really, but she couldn't quite suppress her curiosity.

"Who were you with?" she asked him slyly. "Was it a girl? Does little Reg have a sweetheart?"

"I don't!" he said stoutly, not quite meeting her eyes, looking rather adorable with the blush in his cheeks deepening.

"You do!" she said. "Or you wouldn't be blushing!"

"Hey! I'm not blushing!" he protested.

"You are," she said, chuckling at the look on his face. "Come on, now… tell me," she pressed on, knowing she should have got on with going through the rest of the house. But something didn't make her want to. It was the friendliness Regulus shared with her, she realised. He was the first person she'd encountered, since waking up in this dratted world, who didn't seem to hate her, who hadn't threatened her, who, on the contrary, seemed to genuinely like her and care for her.

Merlin! Since when had she let such things get better of her and divert her attention from the pressing matter at hand?

"I'll tell you who she is," he said, "If you tell me something in return."

Her grin narrowed at that, before disappearing completely. What did Regulus want to ask her? She'd be at a loss to answer any of his questions, because she wasn't _his _Hermione, not the sister-in-law he so seemed to like.

But he didn't wait for her reply. "What's wrong with Sirius and you, 'Mione?" he asked her quietly, no trace of his earlier laughter.

"What do you mean?" she asked him, her voice sounding rather small now.

"I know there's something wrong. I've been watching both of you. You're not like you were. And it's not recent—you've both been behaving weirdly since months now."

"It's nothing, Reg," she said, remembering to shorten the 'Regulus' to 'Reg' at the very last moment. "We're fine, there's nothing wrong," she said firmly, knowing that whatever deal she had with Sirius involved showing everyone that they were a happy, loving couple.

"Look," said Regulus, his voice grim, a frown on his face. "You can fool Mother and Father and even Bella, but you can't fool me, alright? I've seen the dark looks you give him when you think no one's looking – it's almost like you _loathe _him—but I know you _can't_ hate him! I _know_ you love him! He's been courting you since school, long before your Mother even approached us with the betrothal. And I know he rejected so many offers of marriage because he wanted only you—I mean, he courted you in _secret_, without even telling Bella and Cissy! He'd only do that if he loved you—and _you _love him, too… I know that, I've seen both of you together. So what's gone wrong now?"

"It's n—nothing," she whispered, all the new information stunning her.

They'd _courted _in school? Sirius _loved _her? Why on earth did he hate her now, then? It made no sense to her. And she had no answers for Regulus when she herself knew nothing of it.

"Hermione," said Regulus, startling her from her thoughts. He sounded almost furious now. "Don't lie to me saying it's nothing!"

He walked to an ancient-looking cabinet in a corner of the room and pulled a shelf open, grabbing something from it and laying it on the table.

"Look at this!" he said, as she walked towards him.

A gasp escaped her as she looked at what Regulus had retrieved: framed photographs – one with Sirius and Hermione sitting leaning against the base of a tree, Sirius' arm looped around her waist, smiles on their faces; another with her arms around Sirius' neck, Hermione standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek; another of both of them dancing, Hermione wearing robes of a sparkling blue, Sirius twirling her around, their eyes bright with happiness.

They _had _loved each other, she realised; every photograph proved that. She wasn't faking those smiles, she was certain_; _nor was Sirius. The easy comfort with which his arm was around her waist, the joyous twinkle in her eyes as she pulled him towards her and kissed his cheek—none of that seemed fake. It looked _real, _as real as the smiles Harry gave Ginny, as real as the winks Arthur gave Molly when he thought no one was looking, as real as the affectionate kisses her Mum gave her Dad.

"He'd had all of these put up on the wall!" said Regulus; he sounded agitated now. "I'd seen them—Mother and Father never visited his room, and he'd ordered Kreacher to shut up about it—and he'd put them all up here, right next to these," he pointed to the huge photograph of the four Black cousins. "But he took them down, Hermione—put them away! And I know they were there the day before your wedding… I'd been helping him order Kreacher to shift his stuff to your new room, and I'd seen them all… but when I managed to get in here, months later, they were all gone! And he wouldn't do that unless something's gone wrong between both of you—" Regulus stopped abruptly, his eyes widening at something behind her.

And she knew, even before she could turn around to see what it was, she _knew _who stood behind her. Her heart thudding, she spun around, spotting him standing at the door, his face dark with immeasurable fury, angrier than he'd been when he'd threatened to use his wand on her, his eyes blazing with a rage that made Regulus drop their framed photograph, the shattering of the glass loud in the silence of the room: Sirius.

**oOo**

**A/N:**As I have relatively more time on my hands now, I hope to have the next update soon, and I'm hoping it's a longer update than this one.

For those of you who read Black Bond, we're working hard on it, and expect to have up the next chapter by around the 20th of this month, if all goes well.

I got bitten by the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' bug recently – _finally_ found time to get through all the books on the long flights and the long hours on the road – and I'm _completely_ hooked… got a few fanfiction ideas that just won't leave me alone, and I might post them here if I get down to writing them. And I'd love some ASOIAF fic-recs if you know good ones!

Until next time, then! Thoughts on this would be lovely! Thanks for reading :-)


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the long wait, but work, studies and my other fic got in the way of writing. Plus, I have since discovered that writing a story all on my own is a rather tough task, given how I brainstorm with my co-writers for my other two stories on this site. Anyway, I won't delay this chapter any further! Hope it's an enjoyable read!

**oOo**

**Thanks a ton for all the reviews**. They made me find time to get back to this story and get down to completing this chapter.

To the reviewer who asked if I'm giving up on this fic – no, I'm not :) Updates may be a little sparse as I have exams coming up. But I won't give up on this!

And Christine Rose, thank you for all the ASoIaF fic recommendations! I loved reading them! :)

**oOo**

**The Darkest Black: Chapter 5**

Sirius stood at the door, livid, eyes blazing with a fury that would have made a lesser woman flinch. But Hermione stood firm, meeting his gaze defiantly, though she found her fingers tightening their grip on her wand, seeking strength in the familiar length of wood which wasn't the wand she'd used since she was eleven, but which felt as much a part of her as her original wand had.

"Sirius!" exclaimed Regulus, ashen-faced in the light streaming from the chandeliers. And for once, his young face showed none of the cheerfulness it had carried since she'd had first looked at him.

"Get out," said Sirius, his voice low and level, but laced with command and rage.

He had, Hermione registered dimly, addressed Regulus and not her. He hadn't even glanced at her after the first wrathful glare he had shot her.

"Sirius—it's all my fault—" began Regulus, sounding younger than he previously had. "_I _brought Hermione here—I broke into your room, she didn't even want to come in. I brought her here!"

Hermione glanced sideways at Regulus sharply, touched and stunned in equal measure that Regulus was taking all the blame. It was _she _who had been trying to break in, she who had coaxed Regulus into letting her in. And she _wouldn't _subject the boy to a Death Eater's ire – especially of a Death Eater who was as furious as Sirius was now.

"It's not his fault," she said firmly. "_I_ wanted to look into your room—I was just curious—"

"No! It was me!" said Regulus stubbornly.

"Regulus, get _out,_" growled Sirius, still not taking his eyes off his younger brother, and Hermione realised that this was the first time she had heard Sirius addressing Regulus by his name rather than the affectionate _Reggie. _And it was that – the name growled in a tone that merited no protest – which seemed to make Regulus give up.

"I—I'm sorry," whispered Regulus to his brother, before glancing apologetically at Hermione and swiftly leaving the room.

It was then that Sirius finally looked at her, with a potent rage that she had never seen in the Sirius of _her _world, not even when he had locked horns with Snape.

"What are you up to?" Sirius demanded, his voice icy, contrasting with the way his eyes were alight with fury.

"What do you mean?" she said, holding his blazing glare.

He said nothing, staring at her calculatingly – something in his gaze reminding her of _her _Sirius. But it was only momentary, because his eyes turned darker, boring into hers with an intensity that didn't let her look away.

And then, the spell came – swift and unexpected: _"Legilimens!"_

The force with which he plunged into her mind made her stagger physically – scenes flitting through her mind's eye: _meeting Harry for the first time in the Hogwarts Express… screaming her voice hoarse in Malfoy Manor as Bellatrix's Crutiatus Curse made excruciating pain sear through limbs, her nerves, her very soul… twirling the Time Turner thrice, watching memories and time speed around them—_

"Protego!" she screamed out, her mind – conditioned through years of practice – rapidly clearing itself of memories, stowing them away beneath the calm surface she had swiftly erected, safe from prying minds. But suddenly, instead of her own memories, she could see different ones now: _a little dark-haired boy snuggling into his mother's embrace as she told him that he would one day be Lord Sirius Orion Black III, who would champion the cause of purebloods… a jeering Rabastan Lestrange aiming a Leg-Locking jinx at him, but Bellatrix' curse deflecting the jinx as she cursed Rabastan for daring to jinx her little cousin, while his own heart burned with embarrassment that the Heir to House Black had needed his older cousin to defend him from bullies… the same boy, but a little older now, glancing shyly at the pretty blonde-haired Hermione Greengrass, his face flaming when she smiled at him and he wondered whether she fancied him too…the long wand moving over his wrist, the Dark Lord's words thundering in his ears as he swallowed the shrieks of pain that threatened to tear out of his throat as the spell burnt through the skin of his wrist, the Dark Mark burning deeper into the reddened skin… his own wand pointing at the Black Family Tapestry, his spell burning Andromeda's face off the tapestry, while Mother and Father looked on proudly, making his heart soar at the pride in their eyes, while something in him seemed to simultaneously shatter… watching the mirrored reflection of Hermione, her wand work on her hair, taking off the pins that had set them into the elegant style – pins that matched the blue of her wedding robes… robes he couldn't wait to take off, his lips curling into an eager smirk – a smirk which slid off when she turned around to face him, saying words that made his heart clench painfully—_

And then, suddenly, she found the back of her head stinging agonisingly as it whacked against the wall behind her.

"How dare you!" Sirius snarled, and for a moment, she merely stared at him from, stunned, the memories she had seen flashing rapidly in her mind's eyes – of the little boy who had glanced at her younger self so very shyly, of how excruciating pain had flooded his being when his wrist had been branded with the Dark Mark, of how his heart had seemed fit to burst with the love he felt for Hermione on their wedding night—but most of all, of how he had tried to cover the pain he had felt at Andromeda's disownment with the joy he felt at his parents' pride… it was _that _pain which told her that deep inside his dark heart, he still bore signs of the Sirius from her world, the one who had loved his cousin even after she eloped with a Muggleborn.

Perhaps, she was misreading his pain; perhaps, it stemmed from the pain of disowning the cousin he had been so close to. But there had been something in that memory – an inscrutable expression that had flitted across his younger face, that gave her hope.

But his tall figure towering over her body, which was sprawled on the floor, shook her out of her thoughts. If Sirius had been furious earlier, there was no word that could adequately describe the acute ire on his visage. And she was glad that she still had her wand, that she hadn't dropped it when she had hit the wall.

And this time when his spell came, she was prepared for it.

"Obliviate!" he snarled, no doubt wishing to erase the memories she had seen, wanting to share no part of him with the woman he so hated.

But her wand moved quickly, deflecting his _Obliviate _with a well-directed spell of her own. She got to her feet swiftly – as swiftly as she could with the legs that were slightly longer than her real ones, making her stumble slightly; it would still take her some time to get used to her new limbs, she thought absently.

"Stupefy!" he roared almost immediately, and she knew he was desperate to erase her mind, to bolster his sagging pride that had been bested by the Shield Charm she had earlier instinctively put on, giving her access to his deepest thoughts.

"Expelliarmus!" she flung back. But he was far too quick on his feet, dancing away from the red jet of the Disarming Spell.

His wand twirled again, a spell shooting out of its tip; but she met it midway with a spell of her own, feeling adrenaline beginning to surge through her. It had been years since she had duelled like this… duelled with someone who was hell-bent on harming her, with a loss meaning that her very life could be forfeit… but despite the lack of practice, she found herself meeting Sirius' spells strongly, never letting any spell get close to her, all the while attempting to disarm him or disable him with a Stunning Curse.

But if she was good, he was better – no doubt borne out of how frequently he duelled with what was left of the Order compared to how _her_ last real duel had been at the Battle of Hogwarts with Bellatrix Lestrange, six years ago. There was also the added drawback of how she still had to get used to her new body – with its high-heeled feet and long-fingered hands that hindered her spell-casting and agility.

"Inarcerous!" she shouted, elated when her spell hit him, ropes emerging out of thin air and coiling around him, binding him tight.

But then he was uttering whispered incantations – wandless magic, she realised; and far _too _swiftly, she found the ropes disappearing, and a strong Shield Charm coming up to stop her Stunning Spell.

He faced her again then, standing in a combative stance, his wand pointing at her, sparks at his wandtip, while her wand aimed at him too, her chest heaving, adrenaline rushing through her veins, her feet ready to move at an instant's notice, her wrist ready to move her wand motion the minute he cast his spell.

But Sirius' spell never came, for he continued staring at her not with fury now, but with a gaze that was calculating, with a hint of bewilderment sprinkled in.

"Who are you?" he said, his voice a low whisper.

She stiffened instinctively, her breath catching in her throat.

Did Hermione Greengrass not cast spells at her arse of her husband? Was she some meek, obeying wife who didn't duel with her husband? Was she not supposed to have defended herself against his spells?

Or had Sirius seen her memories that had flitted so _very_ rapidly in her mind's eyes? Had he been able to watch her memories clearly enough to make sense of them and determine that they couldn't have belonged to his wife?

Whatever it was, her secret was out, it seemed. And she needed to think quickly enough to salvage whatever she could of the quandary she found herself in.

"Who are you?" he repeated, his voice harsh and heavy with warning now.

"Hermione," she replied, glad that her voice was steady. "Hermione Greengrass."

"Where did we first meet?" he asked her, suspicion clouding his gaze now, his brow furrowed, while sparks continued to fly out of his wand.

Hermione said nothing, her mind searching furiously for a response, hoping and wishing there were at least some memories of Hermione Greengrass left in the body she had presently occupied. But she found nothing – no memory at all, nothing that seemed a plausible reply to Sirius' question. Where could she have met him? In school? In the Hogwarts Express like she had met Ron and Harry? Or in some pureblood function if their families were in the same social circle?

"Whom were you named after?" Sirius demanded, his voice a whisper again, as his suspicion gave way to rage again, while Hermione could feel her heart thudding madly in her chest. She didn't have an answer to that. Her parents had named her _Hermione _after the character in Shakespeare's _The Winter's Tale_. But Hermione _Greengrass_' parents certainly had _no _knowledge of a Muggle playwright's works! So what on earth could she reply?

She knew absolutely nothing about Hermione Greengrass, she realised, her extremities beginning to turn cold. Though she shared her name and her brown eyes with her dimensional counterpart, hardly anything else about their lives seemed to be identical. She had no answers to Sirius' questions…

But she had to save herself from the certain curses he'd send at her. If he knew who she was – Hermione from another Universe, from another time altogether, he would certainly take her to Voldemort! And she couldn't let that happen. She would be killed for certain, but Voldemort would torture information out of her: about the Prophecy, her knowledge of the Horcruxes, of Harry's destiny, of all that could happen in this dimension. And she _couldn't_ let that happen! She couldn't die—and she certainly couldn't let Voldemort take all those innocent lives again: James, Lily, Remus, Tonks, Mad Eye Moody, even Fred – they were all alive here, and it was up to _her _to save her. And for that, she would need to save herself.

And so, she let the wand drop from her cold hand, and stared at Sirius, glad when she saw bewilderment flitting through his eyes at her action.

"I don't remember," she whispered, the trembling of her voice needing barely any effort. "I don't remember, Sirius—"

"What do you mean you don't remember?" he demanded coldly, but she thought she saw his fury softening imperceptibly.

"When I woke up in the morning—I—I couldn't remember—I don't know what's happening to me—"

"You're lying!" he hissed, and she guessed she had been wrong about his anger abating. "You're not Hermione—you're not _my _Hermione!" There was something in his tone, something that seemed like possessiveness, something like concern, something that belied how he still cared for _his _Hermione beneath all the tough, hateful façade he put on. And she knew it was _that _she needed to capitalise on.

"I _am _Hermione!" she cried earnestly, watching him stiffen slightly, his wand still pointing at her. "I just can't remember—"

His wand moved, her own wand moving a split second too late; but when his spell hit hers, she didn't find herself falling or being Stunned, but only felt the spell washing over her, making her feel warm and cold at the same time – and she knew what he had cast: the counter-spell for Illusion spells and Glamour charms, for concealments and enchantments, a variant of the spell that was imbued in the waters of the Thief's Downfall at Gringotts, a spell that washed away all disguises and countered the effects of potions like Polyjuice and even Dark Curses like the Imperius…

"I told you!" she said indignantly when Sirius' perplexed expression indicated that the spell had kept her unchanged – because her body was still Hermione Greengrass', without any enchantments in place. "I _told_ you I'm Hermione Greengrass! Hermione _Black_, because I'm married to you! I just can't remember stuff—it must have been the accident! I hit my head—and now I can't remember things!"

He sighed, seeming suddenly younger when the frown and wariness disappeared from his features. He stared at her, seemingly at a loss of what to say, though she thought he believed her now.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded. "I asked you if you're fine—I asked you if you want to visit the Mind Healer."

"I was scared!" she exclaimed, hoping she was sounding genuine. "I was scared because you are being so rude—and—and frightening!" she went on, a formulating a plan quickly. She knew things had once been good between Sirius and her—well, her _dimensional counterpart_, rather. But something had gone wrong… things had gone awry, making Sirius hate her. But if she managed to find out what exactly had soured things between them, and then managed to set them right, wouldn't she be able to influence Sirius towards distancing himself from the Dark side and moving towards the Light?

She _could _do that – she had to believe she could… because she couldn't watch yet another Sirius Black waste his life. The Sirius in her world had lived a third of his life in Azkaban, and then spent the last two years of his short-lived life in misery and gloominess, before departing with one last flourish – though Bellatrix Lestrange had beaten him even in that, sending him plummeting into the Veil. But this Sirius – this nineteen-year-old Sirius Black who was so young, who had so much of his life ahead of him – she couldn't let him throw his life away, especially for Voldemort. And she would do all that she could, even if it meant feigning memory loss, to set things right in this world, to use her knowledge to vanquish Voldemort… and most of all, to save innocent lives that had been gone before their time in her world, including the fuming young man who stood before her.

But when she saw his lips pursing again, his gaze narrowing, and her hopes sunk. But she ploughed on, undaunted. "I was scared," she repeated, "because you're behaving so differently—as if you hate me! But I know we weren't like this—so—so I brought Reg here, to see for myself—"

"And what were you doing with Potter, then? In the Hogwarts Express?" demanded Sirius coldly, putting paid to whatever little hopes she had left that her lies had convinced him. It was clear now that he _had_ seen and made sense of the quickly-flitting memories in her mind. The pre-teen Harry in her memory looked like James to him.

"I don't know what that was," she said, groping for and failing to find a believable enough answer. "I don't know, Sirius!"

"Why was Bella torturing you? What the _fuck _was that? And the Time Turner? Where did you get that from? You've never had access to one! And I know you didn't nick it from the Ministry yesterday because you never entered the Time Room! Answer me!"

"I don't know!" she cried, "I _told _you! I don't remember anything!"

"You expect me to believe this tosh?" he hissed, though there was a hint of unsureness beneath his scoffing tone. "You think I'll believe that you don't remember anything—you don't remember what you were doing with Potter? With that Time Turner? You don't remember how you _destroyed _everything between us!" He paused abruptly, eyes blazing again, but she noticed how he seemed to be concealing how affected he was by the recollection of whatever had gone wrong between them.

"I don't remember!" she said earnestly. "Tell me! Tell me what went wrong," she said, moving forwards, watching him stiffen as the distance between them lessened.

But she barely moved her hand to touch his arm, when he stepped away from her, breathing rapidly.

"I get it, Greengrass," he said curtly, all hint of the bewilderment gone from his tone. He seemed to have made up his mind about not believing her hastily-concocted claims. "I get it. You've been planning all this since morning, haven't you? Behaving all differently, trying to manipulate me with your tricks and lies. But I'm not going to fall for it again. You stick to our deal. Keep my family happy, behave like a devoted, loving wife when we have company—but when we're alone, you're _nothing _to me—"

"Why!" she demanded indignantly. "What went wrong? Tell me!"

However, he turned away, snorting with what seemed like disgust and revulsion.

But suddenly, he let out a pained '_Ah!'_ that made her walk to him despite herself. And she found the Dark Mark on his arm shining a dark, glittering black, the skin around it a fierce red, as he shut his eyes in visible agony.

"I have to go now," he murmured through gritted teeth, and she knew the Mark was hurting him, though she knew not how to go about asking him _why _Voldemort was beckoning him with such urgency. After how he seemed suspicious of her, she deemed it better to give him some space, at least for the time being.

He gestured to the door, pulling back his sleeve over the Mark. "The Dark Lord is waiting for me," he said gruffly. "So get out of here. And if you ever enter my room again, you will regret it, Greengrass. You know I don't make empty threats."

She merely nodded, biting back a scathing retort about how he didn't scare her in the least. At any other time, she would have beaten someone – even someone as skilled at duelling as Sirius – rather quickly. But her spell-casting and usually swift thinking had been impeded by her overwhelming at the unforeseen dilemma she had found herself, by how – for probably the first time in her life – she was in a situation where she knew next to nothing about the world around her, and even strangely, where no books could help her gain knowledge of the unknown.

Moreover, Sirius Black was a mystery that she just couldn't seem to unravel. He had confused and perplexed her with how quickly he went from furious to uncertain to furious again, from beginning to believe her to stating that it was all an act she was putting on. She couldn't make head or tail of the man. She didn't understand him at all. But she _would _with time, she decided firmly.

"Greengrass," he called out to her when she reached the door.

"Yes?"

"Keep away from my brother," he said, his voice laced with warning again.

"He's my friend," she said, after a beat.

"I don't know what you're up to," said Sirius; she saw his hand moving to his sleeve-covered forearm, and she knew Voldemort was furious at Sirius' lateness. "But if I find out that you're using Reggie for your own ends or putting him in danger, I swear to you, you'll regret ever having been born."

She said nothing, biting back a furious retort with great effort, and then turned away, hearing the door to his room shut the moment she walked out of it.

"Kreacher!" she heard Sirius' faint voice calling to the elf as she walked down the stairs, stopping only when she reached the room she shared with Sirius.

She shut the door behind her, casting a quick charm that would alert her when someone neared the room. And only then did she take out the newspaper she had taken from Sirius' study, deciding that this would be where she would begin to gather as much information on this world as she could.

_'__**EXPLOSION IN THE DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES**__'_ proclaimed the bold headlines.

_An explosion ripped through the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic late yesterday evening, injuring fifty-seven people, including Head of the Department, Antiquis Blishwick, and three Unspeakables._

_The magical explosion blasted apart part of the Ministry building, injuring several people in the vicinity of the Department. With the secrecy which has always shrouded the Department of Mysteries, the Ministry is understandably not forthcoming with information. But our sources claim that the explosion has caused irreversible damage to several ancient and rare magical artefacts and records held by the Ministry, including destroying _all of _the Ministry's Time Turners and several Prophecies that were housed in Hall of Prophecies which is rumoured to be housed in the Department. _

_While the cause of the explosion isn't clear as yet, an Auror, on the condition of anonymity, stated that though preliminary investigations suggest the explosion was carried out on the orders of He Who Must Not Be Named, there had been no security breach in the Department, whose security had been recently taken up by the Auror Force following a threat perception from the Lestrange brothers._

_Unverified reports claim that the injured included Aurors Savage and Dawlish, who were guarding the Department, member of the Wizengamot, Augusta Longbottom, and two female members of House Black: Narcissa Black-Malfoy, wife of Lucius Malfoy, and Hermione Greengrass-Black, wife of Sirius Black, Heir to House Black. An eye-witness also claimed to have seen Mr Black bodily pull out his bleeding wife out of the wreckage._

Hermione read through the rest of the report with disbelief, reminded acutely of the destruction suffered by the Department of Mysteries during the fight for the Prophecy in their fifth year. While the damage caused was nowhere near what this explosion had caused, Hermione noticed the similarities: some of the prophecies getting smashed, all the Time Turners getting destroyed…

She thought of the Department of Mysteries in her world, where she had been working since four years. And she thought back, with a pang, to her ongoing research on the Love Room. Her work would be left unfinished until she got back, she thought gloomily, as she looked at the words of the report that had thoroughly shaken her: _The Time Turners… destroyed… all of them…_

It was only now, with the door securely shut to the Blacks, with Sirius and his fury out of the house, with the admittance of the vulnerability and hopelessness that only solitude could evoke, that she allowed herself to dwell on the enormity of the destruction of the Time Turners. Though she hadn't spelled it out clearly, even to herself, she had been patching up a plan in the back of her mind. Since the moment her panic at finding herself in a different world had calmed down, she had begun thinking of a way to get her back to Harry and Ron – a plan that had involved using a Time Turner. Her job at the Department of Mysteries had given her an insight into just how unimaginably deep, diverse and far-reaching magic was. And she had hoped to somehow at least _try _to magic a Time Turner into taking her into the dimension of time her own world was in.

But the news of the destruction of all the Time Turners had put paid to all her hopes. Of course, Time Turners could be created – as the Unspeakables in her own world had found; after the destruction of Time Turners in her firth year, the Department of Mysteries had managed to procure Turners from other nations, and then replicate them to create new ones. But it was a complex, time-consuming process – one that would take years until she reached home again… and until then, time in her own world would go on, wouldn't it?

She put the newspaper away, magicking it into a plain piece of parchment and stuffing it into her closet. And then she laid down, sighing softly when the sore back of her head rested on the fluffy pillow, her body relaxing gradually.

She shut her eyes for a moment, allowing the magnitude of what had happened to her – finding herself in this strange world, her cluelessness of how to go about returning home, the acute mixture of dread and revulsion she felt at Voldemort being alive, her new 'family' with her Death Eater of a husband – to wash over her. When she opened her eyes again, she found her vision blurry with the tears that pricked at her eyes.

She felt a lump in her throat, her breath hitching momentarily as she thought back to her parents, to Harry and Ron and the Weasleys.

_Would they realise that she had gone_? she wondered sullenly.

They would have, of course.

Ron was probably red-faced with rage and worry at her disappearance, while Harry would be calm and collected from the outside, while his concern would grow at each passing moment from the inside. He would probably have alerted the Aurors by now… they would all search for her, and then find nothing—and then… would they go on with their lives, then? A few years down the line? When they found no clue of Hermione? Harry would marry Ginny and have children he'd name after his parents, probably.

And Ron? Would he move on? Date someone? Settle down? Though things between Ron and her hadn't been all that good recently, she found herself disliking the thought of him with someone like Lavender Brown – though the rational part of her told her that he was better off moving on in life if she wasn't around anymore.

And her parents? She bit back a sob at the thought of her Mum and Dad. It was only in the last couple of years that her relationship with them had gone back to what it had been before she had Obliviated them of all their memories. What would they think of her now? They had been deeply pained, and furious, when she had restored their memories. In an uncharacteristic fit of rage, her Dad had ranted about regretting allowing her to go to Hogwarts, letting her enter the magical world, letting her repeatedly put her life in danger, and giving her access to power enough to irreversibly alter her own parents' lives…

_What would they think now?_ she wondered brokenly. How would they deal with the fact that they had lost their daughter again, due to the very same magic and magical world that they had detested for separating them from their only child?

She brushed the back of her hand against her cheek, furiously wiping off the hot trail of tears.

She couldn't afford to get so pessimistic. She couldn't lose hope just a day into this world. If she had landed up here, travelling through time and dimensions, she _could _go back to her own world, too… she _knew _she could… she had to believe she_ would_…

She pushed the despair away, a different train of thought intriguing her now: Had Hermione Greengrass taken over _her_ body, back in her own world? Or was her own mind and soul in this universe _because _the Hermione Granger of her world was _dead? _Did that mean that the Hermione Greengrass of this world was dead in mind and soul? But if her own body was dead back home, how on _earth _could she go back without a body to return back to?

She grunted in annoyance, the despair threatening to make an appearance again. And she shut her eyes, trying to figure out what exactly had happened before she landed up here, where exactly she had been…

She had woken up, made breakfast, bickered with Ron over something… she had Flooed to the Ministry, and then met Harry there… had she met him in the Atrium? Or in the lift? Why couldn't she remember? She dug the tips of her fingers into the side of her temple, feeling the beginning of a headache as she tried to tax her memory.

_"How's Teddy?" _she remembered asking Harry, watching his face break out into a smile at the mention of his godson.

_"Teddy's great!" answered Harry happily. "He's grown taller, you know. And he asked me when you're going to meet him."_

_"I'll meet him over the weekend," she replied, a little guilty that her recent workload hadn't allowed her to meet the little boy as often as they both would've liked._

_"You ought to cut down on the work, Hermione. Ron was…" Harry trailed off abruptly, no doubt unwilling to betray Ron's confidence to her. But she could guess what Ron had said to him: grumbled about how Hermione spent hours at work every day, which resulted in Ron having to cook for supper… complained about how she wasn't ready to fix a date for their wedding, how she argued with him over the little things, and got mad when he came home drunk last Sunday…_

_"Anyway," said Harry, a little flustered, "I wanted to talk to you about the case we're working on—" Harry stopped abruptly, his mouth moving, though no sound came out of it._

_"Harry!" she exclaimed, reaching out to him, making to clasp the hand he held out to her. But an unseen force pulled her away from him, rapidly increasing the growing distance between them._

_"Harry!" she called out, watching her surroundings explode, the ancient Ministry walls crumbling to dust with loud, roaring sounds, Harry lost in the massive, dense clouds of dust that arose around her._

_"Hermione!" she could hear a faint male voice beckoning to her._

_"Harry!" she yelled out wildly, whipping out her wand and casting a flurry of spells, searching frantically for him through the dust and the crumbling stones. "Harry! Harry!"_

"Hermione! _Hermione!"_

She opened her eyes suddenly, shutting them swiftly as the light blinded her. And when she blinked them open again, she found Sirius looming over her, his expression dark, but something like concern lurking in his shadowed gaze.

She had fallen asleep, she realised. It had all been a dream – well, some of it had been a dream: the explosions and finding herself pulled away from Harry hadn't really happened.

She ran a hand over her face, sitting up in bed slowly, suddenly feeling naked without her wand, everything rushing back to her: the different world she was in, Sirius being a Death Eater…

She looked at Sirius, suddenly wary and alert lest he attempt to harm her. But he was unarmed, staring at her with a pensive expression.

"What is it?" he asked. His voice was gruff, his baritone low. He had been sleeping next to her, she realised blearily, cursing herself for being so careless, for not even having realised when he had entered the room and lied down next to her. She needed to remain alert, careful, quick to defend herself if the need arose.

She looked towards the window, the light outside telling her that it was already morning. She had slept for quite some time, then – which was a little strange because she didn't sleep long hours, and she was a light sleeper, one who would have usually woken up at Sirius' entrance in the room.

"You alright?" demanded Sirius. "You were thrashing about."

"Just—just a dream," she whispered hoarsely, eyes stinging at the remembrance of being unable to find Harry.

He got up then, saying nothing, though he kept glancing at her as he walked to the huge closet he shared with her.

"I'm going down for breakfast," he said gruffly. "I'll tell Mother you're not feeling well. Mopsy will bring up your breakfast and the potions you're supposed to take."

She nodded, feeling a little touched at the unspoken concern she thought he felt. Or perhaps, she had just imagined it.

Sirius shed his robe, the muscles in his back rippling as he reached into the closet for something. But unlike the previous morning, she barely noticed his bare torso when he turned around to face her, thinking instead of what had brought her to this world.

She recounted the events again, finding her mind blank when she tried to remember what case Harry had been alluding to. But she couldn't remember anything. Try as she might, she couldn't remember anything beyond Harry mentioning the case.

What case had he been talking about? She had a sneaking suspicion that it was something related to her presence in the universe she currently was in. Or why else couldn't she remember? Why else did pain begin to prick at her head every time she tried to remember the reason for her current predicament?

So deep was she in thought that she didn't even notice Sirius walk out of the bathroom, droplets of water on his chest, his hair wet and dishevelled, clad in only a towel draped around his hips.

"Greengrass?" he said, and the utterance of her maiden surname reminded her that when Sirius had been shaking her awake, he had called her _Hermione – _not distastefully like he had just called her, but with something akin to familiarity, with care and concern.

"I'm fine," she replied to his raised eyebrow, her cheeks flaming slightly when she noticed the slight bulge in the front of the towel he had donned.

He stared at her again, grey eyes thoughtful, the sunlight streaming in through the windows making his irises look slightly paler, making the water droplets on his chest glisten, highlighting his handsome features, the trail of dark hair disappearing into the towel, his lean but rather muscled arms, making the Dark Mark stand even darker against his skin. It was the sight of the Mark that made her look away from her perusal of him. And when she met his gaze again, she found him still pensive.

He opened his mouth as if to say something. But then shut it again, his jaw tightening. He dressed quickly, while she looked away again, resuming her efforts to try to remember what had happened.

He stopped on the way to the door, looking back at her, still seeming a little conflicted. And she wondered if he now believed that the accident in the Ministry had really affected her, made her lose some of her memories. From his inscrutable gaze, though, she could glean nothing of his thoughts.

And yet again, Sirius walked away from her silently, making her wonder what his unspoken words were, making her wonder whether he still harboured any positive emotions for the wife he had once loved so very dearly.

Mospy, the female house elf, came in minutes later, just as Sirius had said, bringing with her a tray of breakfast, seeming as scared of Hermione as she'd seemed the previous day. But today, Hermione didn't bother convincing the elf that she had nothing to be scared of… because she kept trying to remember what had happened, recollect what was the case Harry was talking about, all the while trying not to notice the fear simmering in her gut. Each attempt at taxing her memory made her feel like whatever she remembered of that day was slipping away from her. Every attempt made her feel further hopeless, made the pain pricking at her head increase slowly.

What if she never remembered what had happened? What if she never found a way to go back? What if she lost them all forever – her parents and Harry and Ron, the life she had built back so painstakingly after the War, the people she had forged relationships with, the new friends she had made, the job she so loved.

What if she didn't manage to go back home? She wanted to remain in this universe long enough to save all the lives she could. But after that, she wanted to go home, of course. But if she could remember nothing of what had brought her here, how could she even begin to find a way to go back? And what if her fears were true? What if Hermione Granger was dead in the other world? What if she was destined to remain as Hermione Greengrass-Black, with her blonde hair and skinny arms, and the fear she evoked in the poor house elves, the cold parents who weren't her own parents, and her Death Eater husband…

"'Mione!" an urgent knock at the door roused her from her depressing thoughts.

"Come in," she called out, swiftly grasping her wand from her side, watching Regulus slam the door open and rush in, his face pale, his eyes wild with what seemed like fear.

"'Mione! I didn't know who to come to—I don't know what to do!" he exclaimed, seeming certainly fearful.

"What is it?" she asked, feeling suddenly concerned for the young boy.

She stood up, and went to the ashen-faced Regulus, wondering what had shaken him so.

"Tell me what happened. What's wrong?" she asked him, her voice soothing.

"I don't know, 'Mione. I don't know what to do—"

"Tell me," she repeated, a sense of foreboding building in the pit of her stomach, feeling like she knew what was going to come next.

"I can't tell Sirius—and—and _you_ can't tell him, too! Promise me you won't tell him I know," said Regulus earnestly.

"I promise," she said, relieved when he nodded.

"It's Kreacher," Regulus whispered, and she knew what was coming before he even finished speaking, her heart thudding with the revelation, with the burden of realising that, yet again, she would be the one charged with saving the magical world from Voldemort, charged with destroying the Horcruxes, and charged with saving yet another life along with all the others she wanted to save – that of the young boy who stood before her.

**oOo**

**A/N:**That's all for this chapter! I hope I can write and post the next chapter soon. Until then, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'd love to hear your thoughts on it :)


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